From the Ashes of the Old World
by Nevermore
Summary: As the 22nd century dawns, the scattered remains of the kindred desperately seek a place for themselves even as they struggle for survival. My attempt at gothic cyberpunk. Work in Progress.
1. Thursday, December 31, 2099 – 11:00 pm

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright.

Thomas Gibson and Ace Books own Neuromancer and other related works. My borrowing of words or technological concepts that may appear in Thomas Gibson's work is in no way meant to challenge the aforementioned copyrights. This story has cyberpunk elements, and that means Gibson, the father and grandmaster of the genre, should be cited. In no way have I knowingly borrowed characters, locations, or events from Gibson's work (not all of which I have yet read). Any similarity to the _Shadowrun_ RPG is also the product of the fact that I'm writing in the cyberpunk genre. (There's also the fact that Shadowrun basically ripped off Neuromancer as the basis of its game system, too.)

Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

_………………………………………………………_

**Author's Notes:** For those who read the WoD fics I've written (posted in the Kindred: The Embraced or the White Wolf sections), this is something a bit different. This is actually part of the same AU I created in those other stories, but as I've taken the action 100 years into the future, it's possible to read this without having read anything else I've ever written in this fandom. Those who've read the other stuff may notice little things here and there that they find interesting (especially later on), but no first-time readers will miss anything important. This is intended to work as a stand-alone.

I am also, quite obviously, ignoring any and all attempts by White Wolf to close out the Old World of Darkness with Gehenna/The Apocalypse. For the purposes of this story, life (and unlife) on Earth continued on with different tragic and destructive consequences. Bear in mind that while this is based on the original (or the _old_, as White Wolf says, since that makes it sound passé and helps sell the new books) World of Darkness, the old order has been so thoroughly shattered that fans of V:tR should be able to follow along without getting lost. Clan affiliation is basically irrelevant, as are any affiliations the individuals had during the old regime (whether it was based on V:tM or V:tR).

Also, in the interest of classifying this as part of a given genre, I would call this gothic cyberpunk.

**Author's Note of Warning: **I promise that this story _will not_ be updated frequently. There are many reasons for this, but the main one is that I plan this to be the last of the White Wolf/World of Darkness stories I will ever write. That means it has to be the biggest and best of them – more characters, more plot, more back-story, more of everything that makes the fandom so much fun. Feel free to fire away with comments and criticisms, as I always pay attention to my readers and some of your concerns may help make this story far better.

_………………………………………………………_

**From the Ashes of the Old World  
**by  
**Nevermore**

**Thursday, December 31, 2099 – 11:00  
**_"If the whole human race lay in one grave, the epitaph on its headstone might well be: 'It seemed a good idea at the time.' " - Dame Rebecca West_

Joey Shigeta took a long drag off of his cigarette as he stared into the night sky at the fireworks heralding the arrival of a new century. He was surprised to find himself taking stock of the past hundred years, wondering if things would be better or worse in the future. He certainly hoped his life would improve in the coming century, but he was old enough to know well that hoping for something was the surest path to disappointment. He had found it far preferable to disengage from life a slight bit and wait to see what happened; being assertive had certainly gotten enough people killed over the years, and he had no desire to join any of them just yet.

The thunderous report of mortars echoed off of the buildings in downtown Wilmington, many of which were not only still standing but also amazingly intact. _And after all that's happened, the mortals still come out here and celebrate, as if the next hundred years will improve their lot any._ He chased philosophical musings from his mind as he savored the show, trying to decide exactly how long it had been since he had seen a fireworks display.

Joey finally glanced at his watch – 11:11. He made a quick wish as he flicked his cigarette away, bouncing it off a long-unused chimney that now served as a nesting place for birds during the warmer months of the year. The diminutive half-Japanese man was an under-whelming physical presence at a thin five and a half feet tall, but he compensated for his lack of stature with an eye-catching wardrobe and considered style. His black suit was custom-tailored and cut to hide his body armor, pistols, and knives, and the wild red streaks in his otherwise jet-black hair gave a young, punkish appearance he spent years developing, striving to keep potential employers slightly off-guard. He enjoyed the fact that his attire did not match the rest of him; he felt it made him more memorable without ever attracting too much undue attention. _And attention is the last thing I want when I'm in a crowd_, he reminded himself, focusing on the charade he engaged in whenever he was walking into the midst of mortals. The first step, as always, was lighting another cigarette. It was effective camouflage. _Stay memorable in a one-on-one, but remain able to disappear instantly in a crowd. _

Joey found that after spending decades not bothering to breathe unless he needed to draw breath to speak, it was hard to go through the motions just for show. But the show was increasingly important, as many of his kind had found out. Thinking about the cigarette in his hand kept him thinking about breathing, and that made him seem more human and less like the vampire he actually was. Of course, he also had a couple of other uncommon advantages for one of his kind – he had retained a good deal of the color in his skin after the change, seeming not to have paled at all over his one and a quarter century as one of the kindred; and he also was able to eat human food. Without those advantages, as slight as they were, he doubted he would have survived for as long as he had.

He walked out onto the street, marked by water-filled potholes, and noted that the air had the distinct smell of humanity; the Colonel had certainly achieved his goal of having the residents of Wilmington come out for the celebration. The hour and a half long rain delay had not even seemed to dampen any spirits. With the fireworks done, however, the kindred was able to make out the almost imperceptible yellow glimmer to the north, the dull, hazy afterglow emanating from the crater that used to be Philadelphia. The city was growing quiet, the breeze was becoming increasingly bitter, and he was running late – the century celebration was a welcome distraction, but things were quickly falling into a familiar pattern.

"Hey, aren't you a little young to be out this late?" a large man asked as he stepped out from an alley and directly into Shigeta's path. The kindred cursed himself for carelessly letting his mind wander when he should have known reapers would be out in force after a large, post-dusk event.

_Looks like I'm going to end up being even later than I thought,_ he decided. "Fuck off," Joey said curtly, even as he noticed the sound of two other pairs of footsteps approaching behind him. Just as he was about to smile at the prospect of three to one odds, two more men stepped out in front of him, both of them far larger than the first to appear from the alley. "I'm not in the mood."

"Neither am I, actually," the first man commented with a faux sob. "But you see, my grandma needs an operation."

"And you figure my kidneys are a match?" Joey asked sarcastically, wondering if he should explain the chances of a mixed-heritage Asian having organs that would not be rejected by a Caucasian body. _Can't imagine any of my organs are gonna bring him the price he thinks he'll get. Then again, my assorted bits and pieces were well and truly atrophied beyond use about a hundred years ago, anyway, so what's the point?_

"Actually, we were kinda figuring on your heart," one of the big men responded, his voice a deep bass that Shigeta thought would make a great singing voice. Rather than ponder the reaper's chances of being the post-apocalyptic world's Barry White, Joey concentrated on flowing his vampire vitae into his extremities. His speed, coordination, and stamina increased in a heartbeat, and all without the telltale twitch that betrayed the activation of cybernetic reflexes in the mortals. As he expected, that twitch did not appear in any of his attackers.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry," Joey said apologetically, "and I would hate to get blood on my suit. I don't suppose there's any chance we could maybe postpone this until tomorrow night, is there? I promise I'll come back."

Foregoing a witty retort that would have taken another hour to occur to him, one of the large men – the one without the singing voice, Joey was relieved to see – lowered his shoulder and lunged at him, intending to drive the small vampire into the brick wall of the adjacent building. Shigeta met the bull rush with a kick to the man's head, stopping him dead in his tracks and snapping his head back as the huge body crumpled to the sidewalk. The man immediately started screaming about how he could not feel his arms or legs, but Joey ignored his attacker's panic as he drew a kukri knife that had been hidden in a sheath placed cleverly in the small of his back. Three quick swipes with the weapon – a gift from an old friend – and the fallen man was joined by an arm from the talkative man, and a leg from the man with the Barry White voice. Joey whirled to face the two attackers behind him, his face devoid of any expression as he stared them down, increasingly disinterested in whether or not they would force him to disembowel them before continuing on to his appointment.

"I suggest you take your paralyzed friend and have him harvested," Joey muttered, wiping some blood splatter from his cheek. "Then use the money to have your other friends' limbs grafted back on. Most important, stay the hell away from me in the future. Like I said, I'm in a bit of a hurry. I don't have time for this bullshit." The final two attackers backed off a step and remained completely passive as the kindred walked away into the night, hurrying his pace as he took another glance at his watch. 11:33. He would definitely make it to the Speakeasy in time, but he doubted that he would have a chance to shoot the bull with the other patrons. Still, if being delayed an hour and a half was the price of seeing the first firework display in over fifty years, he was willing to make that sacrifice. It had been too long since a simple celebration; it reminded him of the old days, and the old days were something that appealed to him a little more with every passing night.

_To be continued………………………………_


	2. Friday, January 1, 2100 – Midnight

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Friday, January 1, 2100 – Midnight**  
"_Half of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm. But the harm does not interest them."_ – _T.S. Eliot_

The Wilmington Speakeasy had begun its life as a school well over two hundred years earlier, and its stone walls seemed obstinately indifferent to the destructive crises of the past century. Several windows had been filled in with stone that was then carefully crafted to blend with surrounding, weathered rock. The work was obviously expensive, and walking through the front door usually made first-time visitors wonder why anyone had bothered.

Joey Shigeta loved the front room of the Speakeasy – it always made him feel as if he had just walked into a humans-only version of the Mos Eisley cantina, with the exception that it was sometimes far more violent. A large stage dominated the left side of the vast room, providing a platform for young, alluring women to eke out a living as exotic dancers. Joey remembered pre-War America well, and he knew that many of the Speakeasy's dancers would have had an opportunity for careers as "real" dancers had they been born a century earlier; now their undeniable talent simply added an air of respectability and class that seemed completely inconsistent with the surroundings.

Turning from the stage brought one an immediate reminder that the Speakeasy was within walking distance of the docks, as no small number of sailors and pirates considered the place their favorite local watering hole. Several prostitutes openly plied their trade amongst the patrons, all of them gravitating toward sailors who had just arrived in port or city defense officers who were thankfully coming off a thirty-hour, stim-fueled shift. A large man meandered amongst the tables, clearly avoiding defense officers while gravitating toward sailors who were not being otherwise occupied by the establishment's in-house entertainment. Joey knew him well – he was a drug dealer who went by the name of Rooney.

Barely over thirty but looking far older, Rooney lumbered awkwardly from one table to the next, his scarred, stretch-marked flesh sliding over a vat-augmented frame that, while large, could not fill the sack of skin that had once covered a far more mammoth build.

Rooney caught sight of Joey and nodded slightly, though he did not bother to come over. The dealer was busy peddling his wares, and he was not going to take time out of his schedule to shoot the breeze with a man he knew was not interested in what he was selling. Shigeta turned to his left and approached the stage, where Crystal and Opal were dancing while Salona stole the show. Shigeta had spent a great deal of time with the club's dancers, and despite the fact that he was long dead he had found himself drawn to Salona as much for her physical beauty as for her razor-sharp wit.

Salona smiled at the vampire, and he dropped a ten-credit ship on the stage without stopping to enjoy the show. He knew it was now a few minutes after midnight, and he was officially late. The last thing he needed was his prospective employer coming into the front room and finding him ogling a stripper when he was supposed to be there for business.

Joey made a beeline toward the rear of the building, waving to the bartender at the back bar as he approached. As usual, O'Leary had his martini prepared in a matter of seconds. Joey dropped another ten-credit chip and continued into a dark corner at the rear of the bar. Predictably, Hound Dog was working the entrance to the back room. Having avoided the possible side effects that had doomed Rooney's procedure, Hound Dog was the epitome of what most people hoped for when they underwent a vat job. His shoulders were considerably wider than the door he blocked, and his torso as thick as it was wide. Tightly corded muscles rippled along the man's arms, and his legs were as solid as tree trunks. Shigeta was absolutely dwarfed standing in front of the man, but he was completely unconcerned. He knew Hound Dog well enough to know that as long as he did what he was told, there would be no problem whatsoever. Shigeta was a longtime member of the Speakeasy, and the staff was reminded daily to display courtesy with those who possessed the strength, luck, and intelligence to make a long career working for the Speakeasy's wealthy clients.

Joey stepped through the scanning portal set up just outside the doorway, and Hound Dog barely glanced at the results. He knew Shigeta would not try to smuggle any firearms into the back room, and he also knew that the small man was unique in being one of the few members who did not possess a single cybernetic implant. The colossal bouncer opened the door and Joey stepped from the front of the building and into a different world. The back room was richly furnished, with oak and walnut highlighted by polished brass. Tables circled the room, all of them a half-level up from ten by ten booths in the center, each equipped with frosted glass and state of the art surveillance countermeasures. Every table – including the ones in the booths – provided an excellent view of the stage where a lone piano player currently coaxed late-20th century tunes from the yellowing ivory keys.

Joey winced as he took a sip of his martini, for the thousandth time longing for the days when he was able to get his hands on European vodka… or at least pre-war American vodka. The swill that was currently distilled in the Upper Midwest was almost enough to convince him that maybe it was finally time to make the oft-considered switch to scotch. A middle-aged, Hispanic maitre d' Joey had never met walked up to him and shook his hand.

"Welcome back, Mr. Shigeta," he said amiably, as if he and Joey were speaking for the hundredth time rather than the first. "Happy New Year to you, sir."

"The same to you," Joey answered with a convincing smile that he had spent a hundred years perfecting.

"Mr. Smith has not yet arrived," the man continued. "Would you like to wait at your table?"

"Please." The maitre d' led him to a table in the middle of the right wall, fairly out in the open. Table 17. The privilege of a table membership at the Speakeasy cost almost as much as the rent on Joey's spacious apartment, but he chalked it up to the cost of doing business. He knew he could always trawl for employers down in the waterfront bars, but the men who hired down at the docks paid like they were hiring down at the docks. High-paying employers, on the other hand, demanded the luxury and security of an establishment like the Speakeasy, and that necessitated the kindred's membership.

Joey hated being so exposed to every pair of eyes in the place, most of which were concertedly uninterested, anyway, but the fact was that the best seats in the room – the tables at each of the room's four corners – were desired by every member of the Speakeasy. They were reserved on a first come, first served basis, and there was a waiting list that was estimated at eight years. Joey had signed up five years earlier, though, and not a single corner table holder had retired, or been retired, in that time.

"My name is Miguel," the maitre d' told him. "If there's anything else I can do for you, please do not hesitate to say so."

"Fine." Once he was left alone, Joey leaned back in his chair and listened to the music, hoping it would take him back to a happier time. Van Morrison's 'Moondance' certainly did the trick; just as he started to recall a tiny bar in a long-gone college town, he was interrupted from his reverie by the arrival of his waitress, Stefanie.

"Can I get you anything this evening, Mr. Shigeta?"

"Absolutely," he sighed. "What's safe?"

"Our butcher slaughtered two steers yesterday afternoon, and they're ready to go," the young girl answered as she crouched down to be at eye level with her customer. It was a tried and true method of building rapport with a customer, and Joey always appreciated that Stefanie still made the effort after years of knowing she would be tipped well unless absolutely everything went wrong. "I saw the animals myself yesterday morning – they were as healthy as anything I've seen in the past few years."

"Fresh beef?" Joey asked. "How much will that set me back?"

"Depends on the cut."

"Rib eye, somewhere in the neighborhood of sixteen ounces. Medium rare."

"One-eighty for the steak," Stefanie answered. "Any sides or appetizers?"

"I assume the salad is safe," Joey surmised. While Wilmington, Delaware was far from the open ranges that were home to the remaining beef cattle in North America, it happened to have to some of the best natural farms and hydroponics gardens on the East Coast. The area had been spared from the biological and chemical weapons that had contaminated the continent's Midwest, an area that had once been known as the breadbasket of the nation. Radioactive fallout was the main problem on the coast, but a concerted effort of removing topsoil, along with freakish luck in upper air patterns taking the majority of the fallout due east and out to sea after the blasts, helped portions of the mid-Atlantic region recover enough at least to support life. Many had thought the area would never thrive again, though recently that assumption was being questioned. Ocean life was making a strong comeback, and radioactivity levels were falling off more quickly than even the world's premier scientists had anticipated. Joey was beginning to wonder if he might even consistently be able to get a decent meal within the next twenty or thirty years.

"Isn't for no reason that half the city is vegetarian," Stefanie commented.

"Fine, I'll start with a Caesar salad," he said, grunting as soon as he saw Stefanie's slow shake of the head. "No Caesar dressing?" She nodded, and he sighed. "Fine, just give me some iceberg lettuce with oil and vinegar."

"That I can do."

"And maybe some kind of vegetable on the side with the steak… green beans, cauliflower, whatever."

"Sure."

"But can you do me a favor and hold off on starting the meal? I'm waiting on a meeting."

"I'll keep an eye on you," she promised. "You want another drink?"

"I don't think I can handle any more of that Wisconsin vodka," Joey answered with a grimace.

"How about Icelandic?"

"You're kidding."

"Just got a shipment in from Reykjavik this morning," Stefanie told him with a smile. "Better get it while you can – there were only two cases. Might as well enjoy some of the perks of being a member… it's not all about sitting in the back room and enjoying my company, you know."

"Though both of those are reason enough to pay my dues," Joey replied with a coy grin. "Though out of curiosity, what'll the perk of Icelandic vodka cost me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not in the least."

"Then I'll bring you two."

Stefanie walked away quickly, leaving Joey to wallow in unexpected memories of the passing of a world he had enjoyed a great deal. The fact that the piano player went from "Dust in the Wind," to "Fire and Rain," and finally to "Time in a Bottle" did little to cheer the kindred as he waited for a contact he increasingly thought unlikely to show. He was just about to tell Stefanie to have the chef throw his steak on the grill when a well-dressed man walked through the door from the front room. Joey recognized him immediately – Patrick Wallace, Vice President of Research and Development at BioChip Inc. Like any other corporate officer, he went by the name of "Mr. Smith" as long as he was inside the Speakeasy, but Shigeta knew Wallace well; he and his team had done three jobs for the up-and-coming executive, and both sides had profited greatly from their ongoing association. At least two out of three times, anyway.

Wallace scanned the room and grinned broadly when he saw the small half-Asian in his accustomed table. He reached the table just as Stefanie arrived with the two martinis – timing that Joey was certain was not coincidence.

"You already ordered drinks?" Wallace asked.

"You know me, I'm all class," Joey muttered sadly as BioChip's emissary took a sip of one of Joey's high-priced cocktails. _A drink that's no doubt gonna set me back at least fifty cred._

"Good God almighty," Wallace said in wonder, extending his arm and looking at the glass with an appraising eye. I can actually see through this vodka – where the hell did this come from?"

"Iceland," Stefanie answered.

"Get us each another glass," he said with a smile. Stefanie was half-turned away when Wallace thought better of his expensive order. "In fact, get us each another two."

The waitress was hardly out of earshot when Joey asked, "You have any idea what four martinis made with Icelandic vodka are gonna cost you?"

"Corporate expense account," Wallace answered absently.

"Moving up in the world, I see."

"Senior VP," the man confirmed with a nod. "I would have settled for the fifty percent increase in salary, but the corporate car, apartment, and expense account are nice little perks."

"I guess so," Shigeta agreed. "But why is it, exactly, that BioChip has its new golden boy slumming it with the temp employees?"

"Temp employees? Is that how you refer to yourselves now?"

"You prefer grave-shifters?" the kindred asked with a grin.

"I always liked corp-jobbers, actually," Wallace admitted. "No sense coming up with euphemisms."

"So says you. Seriously, though, why _are_ you here if you've moved up? Not like a company to expose a valuable commodity like a Senior VP." There was a time when Shigeta would have played his cards closer to his chest, hoping to get the answers he wanted without asking so blatantly, but he had found during the past few decades that being blunt had certain advantages of its own.

"That last job of yours was quite a success," Wallace answered, reminding Joey of a mission he would rather forget. The break-in at Chrysalis Cryogenics a year earlier had been the most difficult job in a career that spanned decades. He had been lucky to lose only one member of his team, though the recruitment and retraining process had kept him from deploying the group on any challenging – and lucrative – jobs ever since then. He could only hope that Wallace's newest proposal was not equally hazardous.

"If this is anything like the last job, you can turn around and walk away. I'm not interested."

"This is nothing like Chrysalis," the corporate officer assured him, forcing Shigeta to wonder if Wallace had learned to lie any better since moving up the corporate ladder. For his own sake, he hoped the man had not. "Though it's just as important to us. The importance is the reason we're coming to you, actually. To be honest, yours was the third team we sent into Chrysalis."

"A little detail that would have been nice to know at the time," Joey muttered angrily, though he could not say he was surprised to hear that news. "It might have been a clue to the radical security upgrades the facility installed."

"I didn't know, either," Wallace said earnestly, detecting the kindred's sudden hostility. "You've gotta know I'm not the only one they send out to hire people; I didn't find out until I got the promotion."

"And how many teams, pray tell, have already failed in this new assignment you have for us?"

"Unless it's classified beyond my level – which is possible but unlikely – you're the first ones we're going to. Like I said, this is important. My superiors like your track record."

"I'm touched. So shall we move to one of the booths?"

"Unless you'd like to make small talk and enjoy a few drinks first."

"It's probably better if I find out how much I'll be making, first," Joey said with a grin. "That way I'll know how much more of this vodka I can drink." Wallace smiled at that, and the kindred rose and led the way to the middle of the dining room. Three booths' windows were clear, revealing comfortably decorated, unoccupied rooms. Joey entered the closest of the booths, and Wallace followed, closing the door behind them. The windows frosted over once the door was locked, obscuring all views from the outside, though both men could still clearly see their surroundings.

"The job is a typical tech-grab from Medi-Stem," the businessman said as he sat down, placing his half-full martini on the small, polished marble table.

"I hate that word – typical," Shigeta groused. "There's no such thing as a 'typical' job. Every facility is its own animal."

"Be that as it may, I don't think you should have problems with cybered, ex-Special Forces security guards this time," Wallace answered.

"And cybered attack dogs," Joey grumbled, fighting off the memory of Mitch's arm torn off at the elbow, moments before he took a bullet to the forehead. "And snipers, and electrified fences, and a minefield disguised as a heliport. That was a particularly nasty touch. Even between the payment we got from you and the cred we got from selling the helicopter, we barely turned a profit. Think we paid for our street doc's holiday vacation last year, though."

"I told you – this won't be like Chrysalis."

"Of course it won't." Joey leaned back, pulled a cigarette from a silver, antique holder, and lit it with a lighter he had been assured once belonged to the British World War II General Montgomery. He took a long drag, and then another, before finally continuing. "A _typical_ tech-grab… How much?"

"Two hundred," Wallace told him. Shigeta did not even bother to hide his surprise. "Yeah, I told you – it's important."

"Only two reasons a team gets two hundred," Joey said, locking his gaze on his prospective employer's. "Either it's such a ridiculously dangerous job that you have to pay us enough to make us think the money's worth the risk of throwing our lives away, or you're paying for the expertise of an elite team. Last I heard, my team hasn't hit the big-time. At least not yet."

"There are what, two, maybe three teams between here and Jacksonville that could command two-hundred per job?" Wallace asked. Joey nodded. "Well, for each of them, there was a first time they got that kind of money. This is that time for you." None of Joey's earlier meetings with Wallace had made him think he was dealing with a first-class bullshitter, but now he was certain of it. He was suddenly not surprised at all that the man had been made a Senior VP before the age of forty.

"What you're forgetting is that for each and every one of those teams, they got that money for the first time because they demanded it and someone thought their past accomplishments made them worth the price. I've made no such demands, so forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious."

"True," Wallace admitted. "So how about we make it seventy instead? As I remember, that's what you got for the Chrysalis job."

"No, I'll take the two-hundred," Joey said, "though I want to find out what I can about the company before we make this official. Gotta run the usual background checks."

"I don't have that kind of time," Wallace responded with a shrug. "The job has to be done by tomorrow night."

"Meaning you need an answer by when?"

"Tomorrow at noon."

"I'll have Gina get back to you," Shigeta grumbled.

_To be continued………………………………………_


	3. Friday, January 1, 2100 – 1:45 am

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Friday, January 1, 2100 – 1:45 a.m.  
**"_It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character, and judgment; in these qualities old age is usually not only not poorer, but is even richer."_– _Marcus Tullius Cicero_

While part of Joey Shigeta had always found the Wilmington Speakeasy's illusion of prosperity and late-20th century normalcy comforting, he also remembered the lesson his kind had learned over several painful decades – never lose touch with contemporary society. So while he was loath to leave the Speakeasy behind for the rest of the night, he knew that it was in his best interest to spend some time in the Old Philly Diner, absorbing the local atmosphere and making certain that he was seen out in public, partaking in the routine that every mortal followed day in and day out.

Matt Winterbourne fell into step behind him as soon as they were both out of the Speakeasy. As usual, the street samurai had maintained a low profile inside, making it extremely unlikely that anyone had noticed him keeping an eye on his team's leader. Winterbourne was hardly larger than average, standing a shade under six feet tall with a lean, muscular frame that, while obviously the result of long, hard hours in the gym, was still dwarfed by the physiques of men like Hound Dog, who chose the quick and easy path of chemical and genetic augmentation.

"Looked like it went well," the young man commented as he finally drew even with his boss. His brown hair trembled all the way to its spiked, frosted tips; it was obvious Winterbourne had already taken at least his first stim of the night. "Did it go well?"

"I'm not sure," Shigeta muttered absently, considering everything that Patrick Wallace had said to him. "I'm not entirely convinced our employer is playing straight with us."

"Why's that?"

"I'll go over it all at the Diner," the kindred responded, hoping to avoid telling the story twice. He was surprised that Winterbourne fell uncharacteristically silent, and the only conclusion he could reach was that his bodyguard had probably taken something more than just stims. Joey simply hoped for his own sake that the young street samurai had been professional enough to wait until after the meeting had ended. Winterbourne's many addictions made him exceedingly easy to control, but they also added a certain level of unpredictability that Shigeta found uncomfortable. _Just remember – he's exceedingly good at what he does,_ the kindred reminded himself, recalling the first time he had seen Winterbourne in action.

The two men walked for almost a half-hour in silence, noticeably avoiding the kind of hassle Joey had experienced while walking alone on his way to the Speakeasy earlier in the evening. _Maybe the reapers had a good harvest earlier in the evening,_ the kindred decided. _They're probably too busy at their worktables to spend more time on the streets collecting extra donors._

They went through the near-darkness of the Barrens before walking over Dupont Hill. Located next to the well maintained remains of I-95, the Old Philly Diner was the proverbial end of the road, the last stop on an interstate that had once stretched up through Philadelphia, next to New York, and on up into Boston. Now all that remained in that area was a blasted wasteland that most figured would be incapable of supporting life for decades, perhaps centuries. If ever.

"Looks like business is good tonight," Winterbourne commented as the pair walked down a gentle slope toward the well-lit building, a beacon of neon light that beckoned to all of Wilmington's corp-jobbers, whether they were natives or out-of-towners on assignment. The Old Philly Diner was to Wilmington's corporate espionage mercenaries what the kindred would once have called Elysium; here there was no violence against others of their kind. The food, while expensive, was edible and as safe as one could expect for the price. There was a target range out back, along with a gunsmith and a few trailers that were set up on a nightly basis, hawking the latest in weaponry, software, and cyberware from the four corners of the globe. Wilmington was home to some of the most advanced bio-tech firms in the world, and that meant it was also home to some of the best corp-jobbers. Ex-soldiers, ex-vampire hunters, and normal citizens who'd scraped together enough money to make up for a lack of skills with cybernetics and chemicals – all of these people gathered here, sharing stories, technology, weapons, and even detailed information on some of Wilmington's finest corporate security systems.

A dozen motorcycles were parked outside in a neat row, basking in the humming, orange-red glow from the diner's sign. Several Jeeps and Humvees were also parked there, one of them owned by the team's driver, Nicole Gardener. "Team's already here, too," Winterbourne added needlessly, as if Joey had somehow overlooked the presence of the well-armored, pock-marked monstrosity he had given Nicki as a gift three years earlier.

The kindred declined opportunities for conversation and led his newest team member inside. He undertook the ritual of scanning the patrons for anyone he might consider hostile or unpredictable and then walked toward the table where Nicki was sitting with Stevie and Gina. Gina and Nicki were already eating, while Stevie did his best to avoid watching.

"Hey boss, how'd it go?" Gina asked as soon as Joey arrived at the table. "It go well?" Everyone's attention turned toward their overdue leader and his bodyguard for that night's meeting.

"It was Patrick Wallace," Joey answered simply. Almost as if on cue, each head at the table gazed down in silence – all save for Winterbourne's – and an eerie stillness ruled for several minutes before the young street sam dared to utter a word.

"Umm… is there a problem?" he asked.

"He's the reason you were hired," Gina said, bluntly giving voice to the thought that everyone in the group was sharing. "He's the one who hired us for the job that got Ken killed; if Ken had survived, you wouldn't be working with us." Joey looked at his second-in-command curiously, detecting a hint of unexpected bitterness in her voice. Ken had not been popular in the team, though as with Winterbourne, everyone was more than willing to concede that he excelled at his job. The kindred could only assume that Gina's tone was meant more as a rebuke of the team's neophyte than as an indication of any affection for their fallen comrade. He would have to pay attention and see if there were any other signs of internal discord – that kind of thing got team members killed more quickly than bullets.

"Cheerful, Gina," Stevie muttered. "Very cheerful."

"You gonna argue the accuracy of my statement?" the hacker asked caustically.

"Enough," Joey interrupted. "You guys want to talk about Ken, you can talk until you're all blue in the face as far as I'm concerned; but we're taking care of business, first."

"Sure, boss," Gina responded sheepishly. Stevie nodded, and Nicki continued to gaze silently at the food on her plate.

"The money he's offering is good… too good, even," Joey began. "Son of a bitch gave me a huge song and dance about how we've hit the big time, how his superiors were impressed by Chrysalis and now want to pay what we're worth. Pretty much everything but an exclusive-rights contract, actually."

"And you told him no, right?" Gina guessed.

"I told him you'd call him by noon," Joey answered.

"What's his number?" Gina asked as she pulled her cell out of her pocket. "I'll call him right now and tell him what he can do with his job offer."

"Wait a second," Winterbourne cut in, ignoring icy glares from Stevie and Gina. "Just how much money are we talkin' here?"

"Who gives a shit?" Stevie replied. "He could pay us each a million… it ain't gonna do us any good if we're not alive to spend it."

"But what if he's on the level?" the team's rookie challenged, obviously looking for the big payday that every young corp-jobber spent hours dreaming about.

"He's a Mr. Smith, a suit," Nicki commented, looking up from her "cheese" fries as she finally joined the conversation. "They're _never_ on the level. They're always workin' an angle, whether he's just trying to get us to agree to an impossible job, or whether he's deliberately setting us up to get taken out; after all, maybe his bosses just decided Chrysalis is 'need to know,' and we don't. If the money's too good to be true, then it's not a job we want."

"But if he's gonna set us up, why risk raising our suspicions by overpaying?" Winterbourne reasoned.

"Except maybe he's counting on our new rookie to make that kind of an argument, to trust him because no one who was workin' us would be so obvious about it," Stevie said condescendingly.

"But then again, maybe he expected that those of us with experience would have picked up on that possible trick, and we would then suspect him again," Nicki replied with an amused grin. "So it's like, he knows that we know that he knows."

"Quit screwing around," Gina spat. "Can't we be serious for at least five minutes? Is that so fucking much to ask?"

Joey looked his team over, again wondering what kind of internal strife was developing behind his back. He had spent so much time training Matt recently that he had failed to keep an eye on the rest of the crew. "Here are the facts – the job is listed as a tech-grab from a bio-tech corp. Facility is level five, maybe level six… certainly nothing we shouldn't be able to handle."  
"Unless asshead has some surprises for us again," Gina grumbled.

"True," Joey agreed. "Payment's six figures."

"We've only done one of those before," Stevie commented, referring to a job fourteen years earlier that involved stealing a prototype of a new attack helicopter from a facility in Georgetown, Delaware. "That job kept me golden for three years."

"This one would keep you longer." Stevie's eyebrow arched at Joey's comment, and he sat back in thought for several minutes.

"I vote yes," he finally said.

"Easy for you," Gina said, lowering her voice and leaning across the table so she could keep her voice lower. "Your chances of walking away are far better if the job goes south."

_Yup, there it is,_ Joey decided, finally seizing on the source of the team's internal friction. The only other vampire in the group, Stevie was a former gang-banger who experienced his life's greatest stroke of luck when he left Los Angeles only hours before it was vaporized. The rest of the team consisted of ghouls, all of them old and experienced but dependent upon their master for the blood that provided their eternal youth and vigor. The last time the team's mortals had started to grow jealous and resentful, Shigeta had quelled the ill will by upgrading everyone's cybernetics to next-generation wetware that reminded them why they could never undergo the embrace… and why the sacrifice was worth it. It seemed such an outlay of cash was quickly approaching again. _And that's as good a reason as any to take the job,_ he decided. _I could divide one-twenty amongst the survivors and use the other eighty to upgrade Gina, Nicki, and maybe even Matt._

"I've been looking at some of the new InterPhasic I-O neuro-transmitters," Shigeta commented pointedly. "They're nice. Real nice. Tests have them reducing signal degradation by over twenty percent; but they sure cost a hell of a lot." The team's three cybered ghouls were staring at him, each of them understanding the silent offer that was being made.

"Fine, I'm in," Nicki sighed.

"Me too," Matt agreed.

Gina simply stared at her master, still appearing to weigh the merits of risking her life on a dangerous job. "Fine," she finally relented, no small hint of anger in her voice. "But I don't like it."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	4. Saturday, January 2, 2100 – 7:30 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Saturday, January 2, 2100 – 7:30 p.m.  
**_"You live and learn. Or you don't live long." -- Robert A. Heinlein_

"I already cleaned those," Jason Grayson said as he walked into the apartment's large living room, seeing Joey Shigeta seated in the middle of the floor, a tarp spread out beneath him as he pored over his weapons.

"And I'm cleaning them again," Joey responded with a grin. It was the same before every job – his retainer prepared everything in advance, and the kindred predictably went over everything a second time. "You know I like to do this myself. It's tradition."

"It's okay to break a routine, you know."

"This coming from the guy who spent the last fifty years living his life according to a set schedule," Shigeta replied. The ghoul smiled, displaying no trace of the haunted expression that had seemed to hang over him for years after Joey had taken the orphan off the streets decades earlier, when he was still a child.

"Gina called a few minutes before you woke up," Jason said, turning on his heel and heading toward the kitchen. "She was on her way, so she should be here any minute. Stevie, too."

A knock from the door punctuated Jason's words, and the ghoul immediately turned again and answered the door. Stevie Jackson walked in alone, his demeanor clearly indicating that he had come alone, obviously planning to meet Gina over at the team leader's apartment. "How goes it, boss?" the burly, tattooed vampire asked. "Still don't trust Jay with your weapons, huh? I guess that makes sense and all… not like he's been with you for decades or anything."

"What has you in such a good mood?" Joey asked, ignoring the light chuckle that Jason let slip as he left the room.

"It's a new century. You know what that means?"

"It means I have to remember to use a new year when I'm filling out the date on something."

"Okay, I guess that's true," Stevie allowed, "but it also means that the Edict of Calais went the way of the DVD and the dodo."

"Hmph," Joey grunted, pulling his pulse rifle onto his lap and doing his best to ignore the weapon's extremely uncomfortable weight.

"Doesn't that matter to you?"

"Not so much," Joey admitted.

"We're allowed to embrace again," Stevie responded enthusiastically. "We can start being ourselves again." Joey simply looked at Stevie and shook his head slowly, a sad expression on his face. "What, you don't agree?"

"The Edict was an empty gesture when it was passed," Shigeta said, never turning away from the work on his assault rifle, making certain he did not reveal any of his disappointment in his friend. "The idea of forbidding the embrace was a good one since it helped us disappear a little more easily, but the fact is that the elders who passed the edict were hunted down and extinguished a few years later. There's been no one to enforce it for almost fifty years."

"So if the edict doesn't matter, then why haven't you embraced anyone? I mean, you talk a good game bout bein' footloose and fancy-free, but you follow the rules as much as anyone else. Shit, you even got me followin' the rules."

"Helped keep you alive, didn't it?"

"Sure, not gonna argue that," Stevie admitted. "It's just you were all fire and brimstone about The Rules, the Inner Circle, the wrath of the elders and all that shit, and now you say they don't matter. Doesn't make much sense to me is all."

"I wasn't ever following the rule of the Edict of Calais… or more to the point, I didn't refrain from embracing anyone because of the fact the Edict was handed down from on high," Joey explained. "I just happened to agree with its reasoning – embracing childer attracts undue attention. Sooner or later, someone's gonna miss the person you embraced. There are cameras everywhere – at cash machines, on street corners, on business security systems, on police hoverdrones, on rooftops collecting weather data… the list goes on and on. Someone somewhere is going to find pictures of the person you embrace, and odds are, since we don't just choose at random, you'll be in one or two of those pictures, too, following the potential childe to make sure they're not doing anything that would make them unworthy. It won't take the hunters long to follow the trail to your doorstep. It's simple – in our society, basically being under some type of surveillance 24/7, there is simply no safe opportunity to embrace a childe. Hell, feeding is tough enough. No way on God's charred Earth am I gonna risk an embrace."

"Okay, that's a valid point," Stevie allowed. "But we're risking extinction if we never replenish our numbers."

Joey looked up at his friend and team member, surprised that the old gang-banger could come up with such a cogent insight. _Well, cogent for him, anyway. Still a bit flawed, though._ "You're forgetting one thing," Joey responded. "We're immortal, so we don't have to replenish our numbers. All we have to do is not get killed, and in my opinion a great start to doing that is not embracing childer."

"And we're constantly missing worthy candidates if we don't embrace," Stevie pointed out.

"There'll always be more," Shigeta countered. "And if there aren't it's because humanity has become extinct, in which case we'll all starve ourselves into torpor pretty quickly. Methinks this has something to do with someone in particular, though. You have someone in mind you're looking to embrace?"

"I don't know. There's this--"

"Hello everyone!" Gina shouted merrily as she walked into the apartment. "I'm here. You all may now commence having fun."

"Your arrival is like the coming of spring," Joey said whimsically.

"Thanks, boss. That's real sweet."

"Don't know about that," Shigeta replied. "I used to be terribly allergic to pollen back in the day. I hated spring."

"Oh hardy-har-har," the hacker said sarcastically. "Looks like Stevie's happy to see me, though."

"Nah, he's just hungry," Shigeta joked with a casual shrug.

"So you get any info on this job?" the hacker asked, raiding her master's refrigerator as Joey turned down the lights, drew the curtains, and pulled up some schematics on a monitor that covered most of the far wall.

"It definitely seems do-able," Joey explained as Gina made herself comfortable on the century-old Corinthian leather couch and Stevie spread out on the floor. "Security is tight, but far from impenetrable. Medi-Stem's in that wonderful and – for them – unfortunate position of having enough money to support some productive R&D but not have enough resources to get security worthy of protecting their developments."

"So we're talking armed guards, mag-lock doors with seven-digit access codes, and maybe motion sensors in sensitive, unoccupied areas," Gina surmised.

"Well, there are also lasers and some infra-red cameras."

"And that's why we're bringing you along, Mr. Room Temperature," the hacker replied with a grin. "What about the mainframe?"

"Low- to mid-level ice," Shigeta explained, referring to the company's Anti-Intrusion Software. "At least, that's what I've been told. You'll want to double-check."

"Of course."

"And this is a job that's getting us six figures?" Stevie asked skeptically. "I'm not going mad, right? This really _is_ suspicious, isn't it?"

"No doubt about it," Shigeta grumbled, "but I'm not seeing anything that leaps out as this being a setup… unless each of my sources has been bought. That'd be a lot of trouble and expense to go to just to get us killed. It'd be far easier and cheaper just to hire a cleaning detail."

"What if they did that, too?" Stevie suggested. "You know, just in case the setup didn't work. Most corps are known for being thorough."

"Already checked," Joey admitted. "No new cleaners in town, and no one local is gonna contract out for a local team. Bad business…"

"So any ideas on getting in?" Stevie asked, trying to get the prep meeting on track.

"Same as usual," Joey responded, displaying a picture of the security gate, manned by two bored guards. "We send Nicki in through the gate, probably in some kind of stolen delivery or cleaning services van. She's checking on the possibilities right now. Gina, you and Winterbourne will enter in the truck with Nicki. The rendezvous point is Building F. Once we regroup, we'll head to Building J; that appears to be the onsite mainframe. Nicki will wait at F… from there she can be at any exit from J within thirty seconds."

"Sure," the hacker said with a nod, tapping a few keys and bringing up a side-by-side external view and schematic of J Building. It was what she expected – three stories, concrete, only a few windows, all of them almost certainly bullet-resistant – built to survive a military assault and likely tough to navigate once they were inside. A moment later she added in Building F and the three roads that connected it to Building J. "Think Matt's gonna be upset about the subtle approach?"

"He's gonna have to learn that a full frontal assault is not always the best idea," Shigeta answered. Then he turned to the other vampire. "Stevie, you and I get to start at Building B," Joey continued. "That's the motor pool."

"Setting up a diversion, just in case," the old gang-banger guessed.

"A few C-4 charges," Joey confirmed with a nod. "Nothing crazy, just enough to draw attention away from us. We don't want to cause enough destruction to get them obsessed with tracking us down."

"Fine," Stevie sighed.

"Hopefully, we can pull this off with a minimum of surprises," Shigeta said.

"Well, maybe a few surprises will do us some good," Gina suggested. "I mean, as long as it's nothing too bad, that is. I for one would like to see how Winterbourne responds to a job getting FUBAR'd, especially if we can do that before getting to a seriously well-defended installation sometime in the future."

"Silly mortal," Joey chided with a forced smile. "All these years and you still play fast and loose with your life. I, for one, hate surprises."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	5. Sunday, January 3, 2100 – 2:30 am

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Sunday, January 3, 2100 – 2:30 a.m.  
**"_The secret of reaping the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment from life is to live dangerously!" -- Friedrich Nietzsche_

"Call me crazy, but this just seems too easy," Gina muttered as she crept along behind Joey Shigeta. Both intruders stayed close to the wall, attempting to avoid the pressure sensors installed in the center of the hallway.

"You're not crazy," Joey answered, disturbed that he was not the only one to think things were going too well. Gina had told him the guard at the front gate had hardly glanced at their identicards when they checked in at the complex entrance, and the two guards at the building entrance had simply waved them on inside without even taking the trouble to exchange hellos. The motor pool had been completely deserted, and Joey and Stevie had reached Building J as easily as their teammates had. In fact, Joey found it far more difficult to find his way than he did to evade any security.

_Three guards, no dogs, and only one maglock. It shouldn't be this easy to get into the R&D wing of one of Wilmington's leading biotech research corps. There wasn't even a token metal detector to make certain we aren't carrying any weapons… which of course we are._

The vampire stole a glance at his fake I.D., listing him as Anthony Tsurakawa, a computer analyst from Athens, Georgia. While it was an excellent forgery, Joey knew that the card should not have stood up to any close scrutiny. _And even if it had, there's no rational explanation for us not running into extra security inside the installation._

"We're here," Gina announced, inserting her mag-lock skeleton key and hooking it up to her cranial interface. Her eyes glazed over for only a couple of seconds before the door opened with a slight hiss that reminded Joey of the doors on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

"Nice digs," the vampire commented as he followed Gina inside. Within moments she was jacked into the mainframe, her eyes closed but twitching, resembling a sleeping woman enjoying a vivid dream, as her hands glided over the keyboard that was jacked into an interface on her forearm. The usual gestures followed – shrugs, smiles, grimaces, and excited pointing at objects that only she could see in the virtual world. There was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary until Joey noticed that Gina was taking longer than she had expected. Her body remained almost completely still for several minutes, and then she gasped, her eyes going wide while her gaze remained vacant.

"Gina?" Shigeta asked worriedly, weighing the merits of tearing her interface from the wall. He knew that could very well land her in a coma, but he also knew that if something were going wrong – if she had encountered any ice – that the alternative of a coma from which she might someday awaken was far preferable to having her synapses permanently fried.

He was reaching for the cords when Gina started coughing and a faraway focus returned to her eyes. "Fuck," she gurgled, trying to swallow the chunky bile that had risen in her throat. "We have to get out of here, Boss."

"What's up?"

"We're not alone," she answered. "There's another team here somewhere, and their hacker just got frosted by one of the worst ice programs I ever saw. Security has to have been alerted."

"Frosty, you see anything?" Joey asked over the com, hoping that Winterbourne had not run into any trouble outside the building. The vampire had not yet heard any gunfire, so that was a good sign; the rookie street samurai was prone to shoot first and ask questions later.

"All's quiet," Winterbourne answered. "Something wrong?"

"How 'bout you, Banger?" Shigeta asked Stevie, ignoring Winterbourne's question for the moment.

"Same as Frosty," the other vampire said reassuringly from the roof. "I have the guards in my sights right now, and they're still shootin' the bull. You and the Secretary all right?"

"We're coming out. Wheels, get going to extraction point B. Frosty, get moving right now; Banger, give us thirty seconds and then you get going, too." Shigeta didn't wait for any confirmation from his team; he simply counted on their training and experience to get them through their assignments flawlessly.

Gina struggled to her feet, visibly shaken by what she had seen in the company's computer matrix as she coped with the disorienting effects of an abrupt disconnection. "You okay to walk?" Joey asked, seriously doubting whether the hacker would be able to make it to the exit, despite the fact that Nicki would be waiting by a door almost directly below them, just three flights down.

"I'll make it, Boss." She grimaced as her knees buckled beneath her, but she managed to maintain her footing. Joey took her keyboard from her, slinging it over his right shoulder as he helped support Gina with his left. The hacker gripped a needle-gun in her right hand, but Joey doubted she could even raise it to fire if she needed to. She was growing paler and greener every moment.

"Boss, you got incoming," Stevie yelled over the com. "Looks like a full security detail, maybe ten guys in body armor entering at the rear of the building. I'm not sure where they came from… I was only looking away from that direction for maybe ten seconds."

"Take a moment," Joey told Gina, settling her back against the wall as soon as they entered the stairwell. _No way we're getting out of here without a fight,_ he realized. _She's in no shape to sneak past them or outrun them, so we're gonna have to go straight through them._ For the briefest second he considered letting loose with the abilities that his blood granted him, but he discarded that strategy as soon as it occurred to him. Facing security guards was one thing; giving any local hunters an excuse to start tracking him and his team was something else entirely.

"We're gonna need support, Banger," Joey muttered, starting to wonder who the guards were, where they had been hiding, and how they had reacted so quickly after Gina's presence was probably detected in the corporate matrix. _It **is** a setup. We knew it and we still came in here…_

"There's an armored vehicle coming from the other side of the complex," the other vampire reported from his rooftop vantage. "I figure we have about a minute to get out, or we won't be leaving at all."

"Blow the charges in the motor pool," Joey ordered. "Where are you, Wheels?"

"Twenty seconds out," Nicki answered, her words joined by three muffled booms that shook the building, letting Joey know that the motor pool had just gone up in flames. "Looks like I'll be on the other side of the building from the guards."

_At least we got lucky on something._ "Carry her," Joey told Stevie as soon as he bounded down the stairs and into their midst. "I'll take care of the guards."

"Sure," Stevie growled, clearly disappointed not to be included in the fighting. The vampire slung Gina over his shoulder and glanced back to see Joey warming up his pulse rifle. Knowing better than to stay against the team-leader's orders, he took off as quickly as possible, his vampiric vitae providing a superhuman, celerity-fueled sprint down the hall and toward Stairwell 3. He knew he could then cut down the hall on the second floor and make it to the extraction point without getting himself or Gina shot.

The echoing of footsteps betrayed the guards' rapid approach, and Joey crouched down in a corner that grew more shadowy as he settled in, hoping his subtle attempt at camouflage would go unnoticed by any survivors. Four men rushed into view – two in font and two behind – all of them in full riot gear and holding assault rifles at the ready. Joey let them all set foot on the small landing, and then opened up at point-blank range. The front two men were blown in half by the thunderous blast as Joey used the wall for support, wincing when his eardrums perforated from the thunderous report of his pulse rifle. Five seconds later, the deaf kindred was dancing around the splattered remains of the four men, directing his vampiric vitae into his ears so that he would be able to hear the approach of any more guards.

" . . . near you," he heard Nicki report.

"Say again," Joey responded.

"If you're off the third floor, then they shouldn't get near you," Nicki told him. "From what I can tell on infra-red, they're more concerned with securing the lab than they are with catching you."

"Which means they either don't think we got anything important, or there's something else in the works to make sure we don't get out," Joey responded as he reached the ground floor. He threw the door open and came face to face with Stevie, who was just finishing getting Gina into the back of the van.

"Hurry boss, hurry," Winterbourne shouted. "That armored vehicle will pin us into this section of the complex if we don't get out right now."

_So that's the plan to keep us from getting away,_ Joey decided. He hopped into the back and managed to get the door closed just as Nicki peeled out and started across the parking lot. The armored vehicle came into view – the vampire noted that it was a converted private security model of a Bradley fighting vehicle – and immediately opened fire from a mounted machine gun.

Bullets tore through the side of the team's van, but only Stevie suffered any wounds. _And he'll be healed by the time we get back home._

"Hold on," Nicki shouted as she cut the wheels to the left, turning onto the access road and placing the van on a collision course with the armored vehicle that was bearing down on an approaching intersection. _If that thing beats us to the four-way, we're done for,_ Joey knew. His thoughts were cut off, though, as he was thrown backwards by inertia as Nicki opened the nitrous oxide tanks. "This is gonna be close, boss," she yelled through gritted teeth.

The van made it with several feet to spare, and Joey allowed himself a brief moment to relax. More gunfire erupted from the armored vehicle, but the vampire was certain that Nicki's driving skills would be more than enough now that they were out in the open.

_Too close,_ the vampire decided. _But then again, for what we got paid, that wasn't near as close as I thought it'd be._

_To be continued………………………………………_


	6. Sunday, January 3, 2100 – 6:00 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Sunday, January 3, 2100 – 6:00 p.m.  
**"_Nothing is so strongly fortified that it cannot be taken by money." – Marcus Tullius Cicero_

"I'm glad you agreed to see me," Joey Shigeta said with a smile as he entered Acheron's office.

"Oh, anything for you, Joseph," the man replied with a theatrical wave of his hands. As usual, the old man was dressed in irritatingly bright attire – a pair of sky blue leather pants, a yellow shirt, and a bright orange duster that Joey guessed was fashioned from some sort of synthetic fiber specially designed to make bright colors even more annoying. "You know your company alone is almost enough to make my day."

"Almost," Joey pointed out. "I would guess that the price tag you're about to quote will finish the job."

"Must it always be about money?" Acheron responded wistfully, his chemical-treated, emerald green eyes full of mirth. "Can't two old friends just talk the way they used to?"

"We never used to talk. We aren't even really friends, Acheron… In fact, we hardly know each other."

"So right," the old man replied with a sly smile and the ghost of a sigh. "So, my girl outside tells me you're interested in buying some information." Acheron raised his voice as he turned away and filled his oversize mug with coffee. _Just about the last thing he needs is more coffee,_ Joey decided with a grin. He had only met Acheron a few times, and only briefly at that. The old, retired corp-jobber had a well-trained staff to handle most of his business, and there was generally no reason to bug the boss.

Acheron ran a small but extremely specialized business – he engaged in the sale of information that was generally of great interest to corp-jobbers. Joey had heard the story plenty of times – when Acheron had started out as a corp-jobber over twenty years earlier, he found it frustrating that it was impossible to dig up information about security systems that he had heard someone else had breached just a week earlier. The result was that his team ended up going in blind when word on the street was that at least one other person in the city almost certainly had tips on making the job easier and safer.

Upon saving enough start-up capital, Acheron went into business for himself. Corp-jobbers generally showed up at his warehouse the morning after a job, selling security schematics and anecdotal information about the targeted installation. Acheron filed the information and sold it – at a healthy markup – to any other teams that came in asking about the same target. While he made a large profit for himself, the city's jobbers all acknowledged that the death rate of those in their vocation had dropped significantly after he opened shop. That was enough to guarantee their silence when corporations snooped around, trying to discover the latest location for Acheron's ever-moving offices.

"I need to know a few names," Joey said.

"Oh, Joseph," Acheron chided, his cheerful visage taking on a grimace to match a tone of voice Joey had not heard since he was a mortal, when his mother caught him sneaking in four hours after curfew. "Surely you don't think to charm me into abandoning my rather firm stance on client confidentiality."

"You make it sound so dirty," Joey responded with a grin, thoroughly enjoying the exchange despite Acheron's undeniably firm rebuke.

"I can't imagine parting with such information," the old man answered, sitting down in his chair with a defeated sigh. "And I must say I never thought you were one to put me into such an uncomfortable situation. Your records speak of a consummate professional."

"I'd like to think so," Joey agreed, "but this is a unique situation."

"Everyone always thinks his own situation is unique," Acheron responded with a shrug. "I suppose it has something to do with our egos… life would definitely be easier without them."

"Someone from my team was in earlier, and maybe one of your employees has already noted a rather interesting detail."

"And what is that?" Acheron, obviously intrigued despite his concerted attempts to appear indifferent.

"We were one of two teams to hit MediStem last night," Joey explained. "And as good as my team is, there's no way the job should have been so easy. That other team bypassed just about everything, so we were able to waltz right in behind them with no problems. I would _love_ to talk shop with these guys."

"But I'm sure they wouldn't want to talk to you," Acheron said sadly. "Assuming, that is, that anyone else was actually there. I'm sure you know I can't say one way or the other." The old man's eyes had brightened even more, and now seemed almost to glitter. Joey had never seen anything like it, and he was caught up in trying to figure out what was causing the effect when Acheron asked, "Exactly how much money were you planning on spending here, Joseph?"

"Huh?"

"Out of curiosity, I was just wondering how much you would have been willing to spend," Acheron explained. "Consider it a survey question – I'm just wondering how much it costs me to hold to my ideals about confidentiality."

"Is that so?" Shigeta asked with a sly grin. "Well, I would have paid as much for that tidbit as I usually pay for schematics of a Level 5 security system."

"Two thousand?"

"You think that's too much? How about fifteen hundred?"

"I preferred the sound of two thousand," Acheron answered, standing and walking toward a grimy window, enjoying the non-view as he took a gulp of coffee. "Not that I would ever accept the money, of course."

"Of course," Joey nodded. "But if there's anything you _could_ pass on to me…" Joey surreptitiously slipped his hand into his pocket while Acheron's head was turned toward the city's scarred panorama. He lightly fingered a two thousand-credit chip in his grasp and then tossed it onto the old man's desk.

"All I have to pass on is the wisdom of years, young Mr. Shigeta," he said, turning on his heel and striding back to his desk upon hearing the almost undetectable click of the chip hitting wood. "Perhaps I could help you look at this from another angle."

"Such wisdom would have value all by itself," Joey said, finally taking one of the two seats in front of Acheron's desk. "The chance to pick the brain of the great Acheron…" The old man nodded and snatched the chip from his desktop, gazing at it curiously as if it was something he had thought he'd put away earlier. Acheron scanned the chip, and did a satisfactory job of displaying every one of his teeth in one broad, satisfied smile.

"I think I'll leave you with a question, Mr. Shigeta," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the drop of coffee he spilled on his gaudy leather pants. "How exactly is it that you know the other team wasn't in here earlier, asking the very same question about your team?"

"Huh?" The question was so unexpected that it took Joey a few moments to process it. "I guess that's a possibility I overlooked. That would mean that either the corp shut down its own security, or there's a third team no one else saw. No way that company is big enough to attract three teams in a given month, to say nothing of the same night. No…"

"I hate to cut our meeting short, Joseph, but I really must get some of my paperwork done."

"Oh, sure," Joey muttered apologetically. "Sorry." The vampire stood and left, facing the uncomfortable implications of Acheron's revelation. _If the corp shut down its own security, it was because they wanted someone to get in. So was it my team, or the other one? And more importantly, why?_

_To be continued………………………………………_


	7. Sunday, January 3, 2100 – 9:30 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Sunday, January 3, 2100 – 9:30 p.m.  
**_"Force has no place where there is need of skill." – Herodotus_

"I didn't realize that a corporate mistress was one of the perks of being a Senior VP," Joey Shigeta commented from the back seat of Patrick Wallace's Ford moments after the businessman settled in for the drive home. "Women like the one in there generally earn more than you do." Wallace's only response was a startled gasp, punctuated by the click of Shigeta cocking the hammer of the 10 mm pistol he placed against the back of Wallace's skull.

"Drive," the kindred commanded. Several minutes of silence followed as Wallace pulled out into the light, late-night traffic. Shigeta allowed his prisoner's mind to wander, imagining all of the bad things that might happen to him. Finally, he decided it was time to drain the tension from the situation. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Mr. Smith," Joey said assuringly, using Wallace's alias as a corporate contact instead of calling him by his real name. "I just want some very simple information; the only reason I even pulled the gun is because I didn't want you getting any ideas about being a hero and blowing my head off with that .357 you have under your seat."

"Fine," Wallace grumbled skeptically. "So what happens now?"

"Just keep driving for a few more minutes," Shigeta ordered. "Go wherever you want – I don't care. I just need to make sure that no one is following us."

"Following us? What the hell is going on?"

"Not sure… Who else was running around MediStem last night?"

"Huh?"

"MediStem," Joey repeated. "Did you have another team in there?"

"Even if we did, you have to know I wouldn't be allowed to talk about it… assuming I'd even know about it," Wallace answered. "It's not like we're dealing with petty government secrets or something – this is corporate business. People tend to disappear when they start spilling corporate secrets."

"But the tone in your voice is clearly telling me you don't have the vaguest idea what I'm talking about," Joey grumbled. "Look, you're a businessman; how about we do some business?"

"How do you mean?" Wallace asked a little too quickly. Joey knew the man was nervous, looking for any way to inject some normalcy into the situation.

"I've already told you there was another team at MediStem last night," Shigeta pointed out. "I'll let you in on what else I know, but I want you to poke around a bit and tell me if there's anything else going on. You get your hands on some nice little information that might please your superiors, and I get the satisfaction of solving a mystery I'd rather not be faced with. I'll admit – I don't like mysteries."

"And I guess I'm also supposed to forget the fact that you just held me at gunpoint?"

"I'd certainly appreciate it," Joey said with a smile, holstering his 10 mm.

"So what do you have for me?"

"The job last night was ridiculously easy until the end, and I had a bad feeling about it from the start," Joey explained. "It didn't make any sense until my decker was poking around inside the corporation's systems. She saw another decker in the matrix… definitely someone unauthorized, given the shrouds he was employing."

"What? A hacker?"

"No, he was inside one of the secure systems," Joey explained. "Whoever it was, he was on-site. We didn't see anyone other than guards, but of course, as most of the security systems were offline, it wasn't like anyone was drawing too much attention to themselves."

"Anything else?"

"My decker says she saw the other guy get frosted when he tried to access something. She has no idea what it was – seems that server was the only one in the matrix that still had AIS programs online. She doesn't think the guy even saw it coming – he got careless after finding all the other ice was offline."

"I assume she didn't know the other decker."

"Didn't look familiar, but some of them change their avatars on a weekly basis. There's no way to know for sure without seeing the guy's meat shell. Hell, for all we know it was a woman, not a guy.

"Look, I know you had us go in to find everything we could on their medicyte program, but is there anything else they could be cooking up at MediStem?"

"The company is over-leveraged as it is with that one R&D program," Wallace explained. "They're basically trying to create a completely synthetic, artificially intelligent immune system that adapts to whatever infects the host. There's no way they could support any other programs; they just don't have the resources."

"Well all I know is what Gina told me after the job. She says there was a server with absolutely insane defenses that frosted a professional jobber before he even knew what was happening. And that was while the server we hit – with all of this supposedly valuable R&D you wanted – was left completely vulnerable."

"Here's another possibility you don't seem to be considering," the businessman suggested, slowing as a lime green city guard cruiser pulled out behind him. "What if the technology at issue was the server itself?"

"Huh?"

"MediStem may very well have bought an experimental AIS program and intentionally hired a team to try breaking into its own system, just so they could see how well the system held up to the attack. That kind of thing happens, you know."

"Shit… I can't believe I never even thought of that," Joey muttered. "Makes perfect sense, at least from a tactical standpoint. Siras would have my head if he were here."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Joey said, raising his voice barely enough for Wallace to make out his words. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud. You wanna pull over at the next corner?"

"Got some greenies behind us," Wallace answered. "I'm gonna have to take you someplace respectable. They've probably already run the car's I.D., so they know who I am. I don't want any overzealous city guardsman reporting to my superiors that I'm using corporate assets to cut my own shady deals."

"Fine," Joey answered. "Just let me out ASAP."

Wallace drove for several more minutes, mumbling several times about obeying the speed limit and not being able to blow through any red lights. There was a moment of brief tension when the cruiser turned on its lights, but it immediately pulled a U-turn and sped off to some unseen emergency elsewhere in the city. Not five seconds later the car was stopped at the curb and Joey was climbing out.

"I'll ask around a little and see if anyone knows about anything, but I guarantee you it was just a test," Wallace called out.

"Probably," Joey agreed, "but just in case, let me know what you find out, 'k?" The door was halfway closed when he thought better of it and turned back briefly. "Oh, and do me a favor, huh? Don't hire my team if you ever decide that BioChip has to test any new anti-intrusion software of its own."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	8. Monday, January 4, 2100 – 2:00 am

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Monday, January 4, 2100 – 2:00 a.m.  
**_"Money can't buy you happiness, but it does bring you a more pleasant form of misery." – Spike Milligan_

"Finally," Stevie griped as Grayson led Nicki – the last team member to arrive – into Joey's living room. The ghoul then slipped away to check on the coffee and finish preparing the light snack that traditionally served as the team's celebration for a successful job.

"Sorry I'm late," Nicki apologized.

"Even Winterbourne got here first," Stevie complained, pointing at the street samurai, who for his part seemed shocked at the suggestion that he would ever arrive late, despite the fact that his timely arrival for the party was only the second instance in which he had been on time.

"Give it a rest, Stevie," Gina muttered. "Let's get the talking part done A.S.A.P. Some of us still need to eat, you know."

"Fine," the vampire replied glumly, knowing better than to get into an argument with the team's hacker when she had the munchies.

"Okay, performance evaluations," Joey began, lifting his datapad off the table and bringing up the reports he had put together for each team member. While every team member received a flat share of each job's pay, he had also introduced a bonus system, whereby each team member had his performance evaluated and then received a share of bonus money based on how well he had done his job. From what Joey had heard, the practice was unique to his team, and he had always found that odd. In his view, there was no better way to encourage excellence, providing a vehicle through which he could commend his team for handling the job well, and call them to task – and suggest areas for improvement – for mistakes that they made in the field. "Gina," he began, "you rocked out there."

"As always," Gina said, patting herself on the back.

"You managed to get the data we needed, and you were able to pick up the trail of another hacker and follow him along to his own target. Without that, we might be stupid enough to think that we were the ones responsible for the lax security. As it is, I guess we have to remember that other team and send them a 'Thank you' card if we ever find out who they were. Gina, you get an 'A.'

"Next we have Stevie."

"A-plus, right boss?"

"I think a 'C' is more like it," Joey answered, ignoring Stevie's stunned response. "I seem to remember you overlooking some approaching guards while you were on watch on the roof."

"Hey, they came out of nowhere," the vampire protested.

"Guards do not just pop out of nowhere," Joey countered. "However, I know you're not one to just get caught flatfooted like that, so I can only assume they had some kind of elaborately planned ambush that caught even you by surprise."

"I wasn't surprised," Stevie countered, his confrontational tone causing the mortals to all shift uncomfortably. "That's bullshit, and you know it."

"This coming from the guy who thinks I'm gonna believe that a fully armed security detail materialized out of thin air while your back was turned."

"I can't believe your penalizing me for that."

"I can't believe you're arguing the point," Joey retorted. "You had a job to do, and it did not get done flawlessly. I'm not gonna say it's all your fault – I think we're all pretty much in agreement that the job was a set-up. But that doesn't mean I'm letting you slide, and it doesn't mean that maybe you shouldn't try giving some thought as to how you might do better next time."

"You know, you can be a sanctimonious prick sometimes," Stevie grumbled.

"And you can be a real fucking bite in the ass," Joey returned. "But unless you're ready to start a team of your own, you'll have to put up with me being a sanctimonious prick."

"Hey boss, I didn't mean it like that," Stevie said as soon as he realized Joey was giving him the option of walking out. "I'm happy where I am; I just don't think I deserve a 'C' is all."

"Then don't get surprised again."

"I won't."

"Good." Joey moved on to his driver. "Nicki, you did a good job, too. I especially liked the acceleration you got out of the van. Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?"

"Simple nitrous oxide," the team's driver explained, "but I had a specially designed injection system that staggered the delivery of the nitrous into the engine, giving it a few shorter bursts before sending a steady flow into the fuel mix. Since the engine was working off a hybri-fuel power plant, I was able to get around the quick overheating problem that those engines have with an immediate injection of nitrous."

"Clever," Gina nodded. "You build that yourself?"

"Sure did."

"Hey boss, if I decide to start my own team, after all, can I take Nicki with me?" Stevie asked, his mood obviously having improved in a few short minutes.

"No," Joey said with a small grin. "Nicki, for your excellent driving and your much-appreciated talent for automotive engineering, you get an 'A.' "

"Kick ass," she said with a smile.

"Now for the rookie," Joey announced, his gaze going to Winterbourne. "I'm thinking you get a 'B.' "

"Cool," Winterbourne said with a sigh of relief.

"Your job was pretty easy, and you followed directions well enough," Joey explained. "The only problem was how hyped up you got during the job; I could hear it in your voice, Matt. You have to learn to calm down under pressure. That'll come with a little more time."

"So you're not kicked out just yet," Gina joked.

"Although I'm still gonna have you clean the rims on my truck once a week, rookie," Nicki added.

"And how about you?" Stevie asked, turning to Joey.

"Like you, I get a 'C,' " Joey answered. "I was careless in accepting the job, even though we all knew it was too good to be true. I got us out of the building in time, but I also had to kill four guards in order to provide cover to have Stevie get Gina out. Some good, some bad, I end up being average."

"So once again, the boss is hardest on himself," Nicki commented. "I still say that as long as we get the job done and make it home with all our fingers and toes, you should get an 'A.' "

"Seems reasonable to me," Gina agreed, receiving a nod of agreement from Winterbourne.

"Nicki, you, Gina, and Matt have appointments for implantation of your InterPhasic neuro-transmitters," Joey said, ignoring his team's comments. "Lazarus is a little backed up, so it'll be about two weeks. However," he added, punching up some numbers and displaying them on his wall monitor, "I bet you'll be able to fill the time until then." The individual shares for each team member were listed, showing each of the cyborgs receiving fifteen thousand, and Stevie and Joey each getting twenty-five. And extra twenty-five went into the bonus pot, while the remainder of the payment, the specific amount of which the team was not made aware, went into the team's Emergency Fund, which covered treatments for injuries and replacement costs for damaged cyberware.

Stevie immediately started telling anyone who would listen all about the new car he was going to buy while Grayson brought out the coffee and an assortment of pastries that he had spent the afternoon making.

"So, like… we get some time off now or something?" Winterbourne asked.

"Until you and the others are recovered after the operations," Joey confirmed. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Huh?"

"Actually, that goes for all of you," Joey said, raising his voice and cutting off Stevie's loud description of how the hydrogen cell in the Mitsubishi Serpent Nova Edition allowed it to generate as much horsepower as the standard hybri-fuel edition while also making the vehicle three hundred pounds lighter.

"What's that, boss?" Nicki asked.

"Keep this on the q.t., but I've been asking around town about that other team," Joey explained. "I sorta have a bad feeling about it."

"And when you get bad feelings, chaos follows," Gina surmised with a wry smile.

"Not always," Joey objected. "Well… maybe mostly. But definitely not always."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	9. Tuesday, January 5, 2100 – 9:00 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Tuesday, January 5, 2100 – 9:00 p.m.**  
_"I don't want to achieve immortality through my work... I want to achieve it by not dying!" – Woody Allen_

Joey took an extended glance at the man sitting at Table 23. He was a new face, and that meant the man who used to sit there had retired. _Or been retired, more likely,_ the kindred decided. He remembered the face of the man who had previously sat at Table 23 – young, definitely no more than thirty, short-cropped, thinning blonde hair, ever-present stubble, and low-grade cybernetic eyes. Joey recognized the new member as someone who had been sitting at the bar several nights a week for almost a year. _Guess his number just got called to move up to a table._ Far older than the last man who had leased Table 23, the new guy was probably pushing fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair, flushed skin, and a conservatively cut, charcoal gray three-piece suit. _No doubt about it – former company man. Probably corporate security who took a few juicy secrets with him to cover start-up costs for his own team of temps._ A wrinkled overcoat that looked like it had been dug out of Colombo's dirty clothes hamper was slung carelessly on the seat next to him, and he was currently staring down Joey's favorite waitress.

"How many nights have I been in here and seen people having steak?" he asked belligerently. "Now I finally get a table and you're telling me I can't get what I want, despite how much I paid for the privilege of shelling out more than the meals here are worth?"

"Sir, we don't have any more beef tonight," Stefanie said apologetically. "I'm very sorry, especially since this is your first evening in the dining room with us, but there's nothing I can do about it."

"Oh, I can think of a few things," the man said, his stare becoming a leer.

"Those things had better include chicken scampi, stuffed pork chop, and linguine primavera," Joey said, stopping a few steps from Table 23.

The new man looked up at him angrily, his gaze daring Joey to start some trouble. "Got a big mouth there, buddy."

"Just want to make sure you're on the same page as everyone else," Joey said, doing his best to appear professional and non-confrontational despite the fact that he wanted to kick the man's teeth through the back of his head. "I know you're new to the dining room, and I'd hate for you to commit an uncomfortable faux pas."

"A what?"

"First, the staff is here to serve your meals, and not your every whim. Second, the Speakeasy, as fine as its meals are, is still subject to the rationing and food availability constraints as everyone else in the city. Last, and most certainly not least, there are plenty of guys who are more than willing to pay membership fees for a table here at the Speakeasy. It wouldn't be any problem for management to find someone else to sit at Table 23."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yeah. It's a fact."

The man tried staring down the kindred, but in the end he relented. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Get my friend here another of whatever he's drinking," Joey told Stefanie as he turned and continued to his own table. "Welcome to the Speakeasy," he said as pleasantly as he could, thanking the fates that he had succeeded in making his point without provoking an inebriated corp-jobber.

At his table, he relaxed and soaked in the music from the three-piece band that was playing a wonderful rendition of Tony Bennett's 'Just in Time.' The vampire closed his eyes, trying to remember the first time he had ever heard the song. Failing that, he tried to imagine how old he was at the time, or at least whether he had been mortal or kindred. _So many little details that get forgotten,_ he mused, curious as to why he was suddenly being so introspective.

"Hey, thanks for that before," Stefanie's voice chirped, knocking him from his reverie.

"Huh?"

"Calming down the new guy," the waitress clarified. "It would have sucked to have management step in to deal with that; I bet he'd never be happy to have me serve him again after something like that. As it is, he seems pretty mellow."

"Buying drinks for alcoholics generally has that effect."

"Still, I just wanted to let you know I appreciate it," the young woman said with a smile so broad that Joey couldn't help but conclude it was genuine. "Don't know that anyone else in here woulda bothered… at least not without looking to make a fight out of it."

"Normally I would have," Shigeta responded with a mischievous grin, "but I'd hate to get blood on my new suit. So… please tell me there's Caesar dressing for the salad tonight."

"You're in luck."

"Then let's go with a Caesar salad, some kind of seafood for an entrée--"

"How're scallops?"

"Harry in the kitchen tonight?"

"Yup."

"Then scallops are perfect," Joey said with a smile. "I assume you guys have cream and eggs?"

"Two of the few items we generally get our hands on at all times, though you better get dibs on any that're left before we run out – it's getting late," Stefanie answered.

"Good, then let the kitchen know I'll be having the soufflé for dessert. Now, let's talk wine… I'm thinking an Alsatian Riesling."

"Somebody must have just earned a nice paycheck," Stefanie commented with a wink. "The markup for importing that stuff is ridiculous."

"Only if you're not willing to pay it," Joey countered, "and the thought of getting my hands on a crisp, dry Riesling makes me more than willing. Chill me a bottle, at least two years old, but no older than five, okay? If there's a wide range of choices--"

"Which I doubt," Stefanie commented.

"Me too, but if there is, then let me know and I'll pick a label and vintage."

"Sure thing." Stefanie walked away, leaving Joey alone with his thoughts again. 'Just in Time' was winding down, and Joey couldn't help but grin when it was followed by a strained rendition of 'Mr. Bojangles.' The vampire tried to force thoughts of the recent job from his mind, resisting the urge to reflect on his team's performance.

Through the entire meal, Joey managed to keep thoughts of work and responsibility at bay, doing an admirable job of enjoying the music, the food and the atmosphere. At one point, he was even convinced that he had succeeded in fooling his subconscious into thinking that he was back in the 1980's at an upscale, retro restaurant in Los Angeles.

Joey had finished his soufflé and was relishing the final sips of his Sauternes when he noticed a tiny slip of paper had been stuck to the bottom of the crystal glass holding his dessert wine. Appreciating that someone had gone to some lengths to slip him the message surreptitiously, Joey turned his gaze toward the band while he carefully took the paper off of the glass. He waited several moments before he looked at the paper, which contained a short message – _Don't go out the back door tonight._ The writing was Stefanie's – Joey recognized it immediately from the old-fashioned, hand-written checks that were issued to the patrons every night – and Joey knew enough to trust any bit of information that came from one of the Speakeasy's waitresses. They heard bits and pieces of conversations that covered a wide range of topics, including political assassination, corporate espionage, blackmail, kidnapping, gun-running, drug sales, underground cyber clinics, and run-of-the-mill murder for hire. _And there's no doubt that Stefanie just put her life on the line giving me that message,_ he realized.

_Okay, I won't go out the back door,_ Joey decided all too easily. The back door was the private exit for members of the club, and he almost always left that way after a meal. Now he knew he would need a good excuse to go out front, to divert any suspicion that he might have been tipped off about something nasty waiting for him out back.

Joey paid his bill, walked over to the bar, and lit a cigarette while he drank a glass of Cognac. While he often ordered an extra after-dinner drink after a successful job, he could not remember ever have done so at the bar. He hoped, for Stefanie's sake, that the incongruity in his behavior would be overlooked.

"Ah, Mr. Shigeta," a man with a light Hispanic accent said behind Joey. The vampire turned to come face to face with Miguel, the maitre d'.

"Yes?"

"I noticed how well you managed the man at Table 23," the Miguel explained. "I know Stefanie was appreciative, and it certainly saved me the trouble of embarrassing the man on his first night at a table. I just wanted to give you a small token of thanks," he said, handing Joey a purple-and-white, checkered plastic chit with the words, 'Wilmington Speakeasy,' printed in flowery, gold script. Joey knew what it was – a half-hour pass in one of the private rooms out front.

_Perfect,_ he decided. _Now I can go out front without having to come up with any kind of half-ass excuses._ "Well, I was about to tell you it was no big deal," Joey said with a grin, "but that doesn't mean I won't enjoy this, anyway," he added with a conspiratorial wink. The maitre d' smiled in reply as he walked back toward the diners, beginning another circuit amongst the tables to make certain everyone was enjoying himself.

Joey looked at the plastic chit, making certain that anyone who was watching him would see it, and then he walked back out toward the front of the Speakeasy. Once there, his eyes settled on the three dancers currently on stage – Raven, Salona and Jasmine – and walked toward the one in the middle.

"Hey Joey," Salona said with a smile as the vampire sat in front of her as she picked up the credit chips from the stage around her. "You plan on using that room with me?" she asked, a peculiar expression suddenly spreading over her face as she caught sight of the checkered chit in his left hand. "I'll definitely make it worth your while."

"I don't know," Joey muttered. He had hoped to hang around the stage for a few minutes before heading over to Rooney, then he would buy some stims and stagger off into the night, hoping that whoever was waiting outside would decide that he had come out the front so that he score some drugs before leaving. _Unless they know I'm kindred,_ he realized with a shudder. _If it's a hunter or something, if they figured out what I am because of what I did with the shadows at MediStem…_ He silently cursed his brief, almost undetectable use of his abilities as he continued to gaze at Salona.

"How many times have I heard 'I don't know' from you?" Salona asked, crossing her arms and gazing down at Joey with a playful pout on her face.

Joey was about to say, "Never," when it dawned on him that Salona seemed to be working pretty hard to get him alone. _Probably has a message for me, too,_ he thought. _And I'd better let her deliver it before she gets any more obvious and lands herself in a world of hurt._ "Fine, you win," Joey answered, raising his hands in mock surrender. "As always, I'm powerless to resist your feminine wiles."

"That'd be the day," Salona quipped, stepping down off the stage and leading Joey to a back room as Amber climbed up and started gyrating to the overly stylized techno song that started thumping from the speakers. The young woman led Joey through the crowd, ignoring every hand that reached out to get too familiar, and ushered him through a black door and into a dim, narrow hallway. Joey's instincts then went on red alert. _Maybe she's not trying to warn me; maybe she's trying to break into the big-time by killing me._ Salona had confided in him a year earlier that she hoped to use her new implants to make something more of herself, and now Joey hoped that he would not have to end the fledgling corp-jobber's career before it really got started.

There were four, dark gray doors in the hallway – two on each side – and Salona led Joey to the second one on the left. Two blacklight rods lit when they entered the room, and Salona gestured for Joey to sit down on a leather couch that faced the doorway. A relaxing bass beat started to pump in through small speakers set around the ceiling, and Joey almost fell over when he recognized the song – 'Sugar Water,' by Cibo Matto. _It's got to be almost a hundred years since I've heard that,_ he decided, his guard being raised even more as he pondered the curious fact that he could remember the name and artist for such a fairly obscure song.

Joey sat back and enjoyed the view as Salona came over and straddled him, sliding out of her halter top as she let he short hair fall over her face, filling his nose with the mingled scents of strawberry and vanilla. Joey closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to will his mind to a different time and place, in a city that had long since been reduced to ash. A voice in the back of his mind kept warning him that closing his eyes was likely stupid, given that moments earlier he had been on guard against an attack from the petite stripper. _But seriously, what could she really accomplish in attacking me?_ he demanded of the paranoid instincts that had kept him alive for so long. _She's a mortal, and a young and untrained one at that. I'm in no danger here._

"You're in serious danger," Salona whispered into his ear, nibbling slightly on his earlobe in what Joey assumed was an attempt to conceal her warning. "I heard someone say earlier that he expected Table 17 to become available."

Joey didn't respond; he knew that doing so would let on that she had let him know that a trap was being set. _Two warnings in one night,_ he marveled. _Been a long time since that happened._ "So, umm…. Salona," Joey muttered, pushing her back and staring into her eyes before allowing his gaze to take in the full view of her insanely toned body. "I never realized how much fun the back rooms could be. And you were right about the spring in my step – I have some money to burn," he added, speaking for the benefit of whoever might be watching or listening. He knew that the back rooms were all monitored at all times, just in case anyone had the foolish idea of getting rough or inappropriate with one of the girls. _And if someone's out to get me, it's a good idea to make sure that they don't suspect Salona any more than they might suspect Stefanie._ "I don't suppose you have any friends who might want to join us for a private party," he suggested. "Maybe some Champagne?"

"Champagne and Chardonnay," Salona replied with a grin, referring to a bottle of bubbly wine and a tall, blonde dancer who was one of the more popular performers at the Speakeasy.

"Perfect."

Salona made a show of looking up at a mirror and nodding, and within two minutes Chardonnay had joined them in the private room, carrying a bottle of Champagne in each hand. The music seemed to pick up in tempo at her entrance, and within moments Joey was indulging himself more than he had in decades. He stayed in the room for another hour, pondering the fact that he had stayed in the front of the Speakeasy for so long that whoever was waiting for him had probably repositioned out front, waiting for him to make his appearance.

He settled up with the house, shocked at how easy it had been to run up a three thousand-credit tab, and then walked quickly toward the dining room in the back. Hound Dog ushered him through the door, and Joey made a beeline for the bar. He quickly ordered a Dominican cigar to provide an excuse for his return to the dining room, and then walked out the back. He moved quickly, striding directly toward the second of three cabs that were waiting to pick up late-night diners, knowing the generous tips that members of the Speakeasy were known to give.

"The Arcade," Joey said quickly, sticking his hand in a pocket and taking the safety off of his 10 mm. The cab pulled out into the night, and Joey scanned every surrounding shadow, pored over the details of every passing vehicle, and waited tensely for the cabbie to make a move against him. They reached the Arcade safely, and Joey paid double the fare in gratitude for the cabby's success in unknowingly steering him around trouble.

Once out of the vehicle, Joey darted into the Arcade, an oasis of light and noise in the otherwise dark, silent city. Gang members, corp-jobbers, and computer hackers mingled with tourists and the rich elite, some of whom were buying, some of whom were selling, and some of whom simply wanted the thrill of being surrounded by so much illicit activity. All of this was concealed by store after store, along six blocks just outside Riverside, which provided food, drink, chemical enhancements, and the latest and greatest in virtual reality gaming and thrills.

Joey stepped around a fifty-something businessman and a woman young enough to be his daughter, knowing the Arcade would provide him an excellent opportunity to be lost in a crowd. Once he knew he was not being tailed, he would make his way back home.

_To be continued………………………………………_


	10. Wednesday, January 6, 2100 – 4:15 am

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Wednesday, January 6, 2100– 4:15 a.m.  
**_"Chaos often breeds life, when order breeds habit." – Henry B. Adams_

After two hours of careful, quiet surveillance, Joey Shigeta decided to take a chance. He rode the elevator to the top floor of the building across from his, and then picked the lock to the roof. A few minutes later he was looking at the roof of his own building, three stories below and situated across a four-lane street. _Hoped I'd never have to get home this way,_ he thought miserably, admitting that one reason for selecting his building was the very reason that now presented itself – he could glide over to his roof if he ever needed to sneak in.

The small vampire took a few moments to focus, channeling his blood and imagining himself growing lighter. He stood at the edge, gazing across the road at his destination, hoping that his ability to glide – an ability he had not used in decades – had not somehow been lost to him. _If there are any hunters out there, anyone I didn't see…_ He chased the thought from his head, relying on years of training and experience when it came to detecting surveillance. _There's no one watching, and even if there were, no one would be watching for me to glide over from across the street. Stef and Salona only said I was targeted; neither said it was by hunters. Whoever it is just has a professional grudge. Don't be so fucking paranoid._

The vampire stepped cautiously from the edge of the building, half-expecting to plummet to a very painful collision with the sidewalk. To his relief, his body fluttered on a soft zephyr and then glided, silent as a ghost, to the roof of his own apartment building. Within moments he had opened the roof door and walked down to his own floor. He waited in the stairwell for several minutes, straining to hear the slightest indication that anyone was about, waiting and watching for his arrival. There was nothing.

He finally opened the door to his hallway, his left hand wrapped tightly around a Walther PPK he kept hidden in his jacket pocket. No one was there; no weapons were leveled at him; no shots were fired. _Okay, maybe Stef and Sal had their wires crossed,_ he thought, trying to convince himself of something his gut told him was fantasy. _Okay, not a chance,_ he admitted. _No way both of them happen to hear the same rumor in two different places. Maybe I'm just lucky._

He reached his door and was just about to slide his identicard when he heard an unfamiliar voice through the door. _Male… sounds young. And there's definitely a conversation going on._ He tried to make out some of the words but failed miserably. All he could tell for certain was that Jason was inside, speaking with someone Joey did not know. The voices were low, normal; there was no indication that there was an argument or that either person was under duress. _A social call?_ Joey wondered with confusion. _When was the last time that happened?_

Just to be safe, he swiped his card and had the door open a fraction of a second later. His speed ensured that he was looking down the barrel of his own weapon, and not his visitor's. A middle-aged man was reclining comfortably on Shigeta's couch, keeping an eye on the door as he spoke with Jason.

_Well, my anonymous visitor is obviously wealthy,_ Joey decided, his eyes poring over the man, searching for any valuable clues as to his identity or purpose. His blue, pinstriped, three-piece suit was obviously custom-tailored and appeared to be made of silk, and his black shoes were definitely leather. _I'd bet they're even Italian leather,_ the vampire decided. The man also maintained his pleasant, unconcerned demeanor despite the fact that he was being held at gunpoint.

"I assume you're Mr. Shigeta," he commented pleasantly. "I would stand to greet you as respectfully as you deserve in your own home, but I'm afraid you might shoot me. I'd hate to ruin my suit."

Joey kicked his apartment door closed, never taking his eyes from the man on his couch. A moment later Jason walked into view, a mug of tea in his hands. It was obvious the ghoul did not feel threatened, but Joey knew his retainer would be perfectly willing to get violent if that was how Shigeta decided the situation should play out. The first thing he needed to do was determine what type of threat the man posed; he had no visible weapons, but that meant little. A whole slew of cybernetic upgrades were possible.

"Who are you?" Joey asked. "I mean, you obviously know who I am."

"My name is David Cale," the man said evenly. "I'm the prince's reeve here in Wilmington."

"Come again?"

"I'm the reeve of the city," Cale repeated. "What you younger types might more commonly call a sheriff."

"I know what a reeve is," Joey retorted. "I've read my Chaucer. I know the etymological root of the word sheriff, as well as the meaning and proper use of the word, 'etymological.' It's not just fun and games at the casa de Shigeta. Have to wonder, though, what exactly you mean by prince. Or reeve. Or sheriff."

"If I were a hunter, you'd be dead already," Cale chided. "Are you always so paranoid?"

"It's not paranoia if people are really out to get you."

"And is that your impression? Do you think I'm out to get you?"

"I don't even know who you are," Shigeta pointed out, still aiming the Walther at Cale's forehead. "You claim to be the reeve, but I've never heard of you. You claim to know the prince, but I didn't even know there was one. You're sitting on my couch, and I don't remember ever inviting you."

"He's kindred," Grayson said calmly, obviously trying to defuse the situation before any shooting started.

"The prince understandably prefers to keep a low profile," the reeve told Shigeta.

"Well, keeping a profile so low that no one has heard of him sorta defeats the purpose of claiming dominion over the city," Joey countered. "As a matter of fact, is the prince a he, or is it a she?"

"It's a he," Cale said with a thin smile. "And if I may ask a question of my own?"

"Go ahead," Joey said.

"What clan are you?"

"Now there's a question I haven't heard in a long time," Joey said, surprised at the almost wistful tone of his voice. He lowered his weapon and put it back in his pocket. "How long's it been?" he wondered aloud. "Thirty years? Forty? Could it have been that long?"

"You've obviously lived on your own for awhile," Cale pointed out.

"Out of necessity," Joey replied. "No such thing as safety in numbers anymore, not since hunters got cybered; bastards stopped thinking of it as being outnumbered and started thinking of it as wider target selection. Then, of course, there were eventually enough of them so that they _weren't_ outnumbered anymore. That's when things _really_ started to suck."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"No, I haven't," Joey agreed, leaning against the wall, doing his best to appear as if he was making a big show about trying to stay calm in an unexpected situation, implying a poorly concealed anxiety that he did not actually feel. "I guess it's most accurate to say I don't claim any clan affiliation," he finally said. "I used to be Brujah, though, if that helps any."

"Can't say how long it's been since I've met a Brujah," Cale commented.

"Most were a little too high-profile to escape notice," Joey said. "They also lacked the influential contacts of the Ventrue, Toreador, and Tremere, and they couldn't just melt into the Earth the way so many Gangrel did. Only the sewer rats got it worse than the rabble."

"Of course," Cale nodded, obviously seeing no point in commenting further about the extinction of the Nosferatu clan.

"So how 'bout you, as if I couldn't already guess."

"Ventrue."

Joey nodded and stood back up straight. "So how long have you known about me?"

"Since your break-in at MediStem," Cale answered. "The prince has some interests in that company."

"That's not entirely safe," Joey responded. "Hunters aren't stupid; they realize there were vamps with human contacts, and they know that the kindred will return to their old ways sooner or later. That's a great way to get noticed."

"The prince has taken far more precautions than our forebears ever did. We will not make the same mistakes as others foolishly did."

"Of course not. You've probably found a completely new and exciting way to get yourself discovered and extinguished. I apologize if this seems rude, but I'm going to have to insist that you leave," Joey said, his tone anything but apologetic.

"Would you care to explain why?"

"No. Look, I don't know how this asshole prince of yours likes to do things, but I do things my own way now. There's no more Inner Circle, Camarilla, or Justicars to back up your so-called prince's authority. There's also no more Sabbat to scare me into thinking I'd best stay close to my elders, lest I get myself staked and left for the sun." Joey noted his voice was gradually moving from irritated to furious, but he did not care. He never stopped to reflect on how unlikely he would have been to speak to a prince's emissary in this manner before the wars; nor did he take a moment to think about how much he was giving away by speaking so freely. "You just informed me the prince is busy toying with the mortals, which basically tells me that you're probably under surveillance and that this apartment is no longer safe. So thanks, you just forced me to move. Shithead."

"I think you're overreacting."

"I hope you still feel that way when the Whisper comes looking for you. Not that you'll have much time to reflect on it before he takes your head off."

"The prince would like to speak to you."

"Get out," Shigeta said evenly, finally turning on his heel and glaring at his uninvited guest. "I never asked to meet with the prince. I didn't even know there was a prince. Of course, if he starts playing the games the princes used to play, there isn't going to be a prince for much longer. The only thing I can thank you for is that now I know why people were warning me earlier that I'm a target for a hit."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, that got your attention, didn't it?" Joey stopped for a few moments to etch the reeve's dumbfounded expression into his memory; it had been decades since he had had such an opportunity. "The reason I'm in late tonight is because I was watching my apartment to make sure no one else was watching, waiting for me to stick my head out long enough to get it sliced off. I've gone decades without attracting attention, and now all my careful precautions have been wasted because I happened to hit a company that the prince is using as a plaything."

"Are you sure?" the reeve asked. "About being a target, I mean."

"Jay, we're leaving," Joey told his ghoul before turning back to the reeve. "If you have any doubts, Mr. Cale, feel free to stay here. I'm gonna pack up a few weapons and personal items, and then I'm going to sneak out. Once I'm about a block away, I'm going to press the little button on the detonator I'm gonna take along with me. Then everything else here, everything I've spent decades collecting and valuing, is going to be vaporized, and you along with it if you don't leave. I can only hope that whoever has me in their sights decides that maybe someone else got to me first. Then I think I'll high tail it out of the city at nightfall tomorrow. Enjoy what's left of your life."

"You're joking."

"Like I said, feel free to stay and find out. I couldn't care less." Joey turned away from the reeve and walked briskly into his room, immediately grabbing a small photo album and a picture frame displaying a photograph of him with a petite brunette. He threw that into a large duffel bag, followed by a dozen 10,000-credit chips, several pistols, and a few thousand rounds of ammunition. He strapped a ninja-to to his waist, and then he was headed out the door, not bothering to take a sentimental gaze back at everything he was about to lose. "Jay, we're leaving," he told his ghoul again. "That means now." He heard the front door close as the reeve left, and a minute later Joey and Jay were gone, too.

It was actually two blocks later when Joey finally mustered up the resolve to press the detonator. A bright flash brought his shadow into sharp focus in front of his eyes, and a brief moment later the blast rang through his ears and blew out several windows above him, raining shards of glass over him and his ghoul.

"Now what?" Jay asked sullenly, indifferent to the razor-sharp precipitation and obviously distraught about losing all that he had left behind. As a ghoul, he was still far more attached to the trappings of the mortal world than was his master.

"We go to Riverside," Shigeta grumbled. "I have a small place down there for emergencies."

"And if we're being followed?"

"We'll lose them in Riverside," Joey said confidently, trying to remember the exact route through the subterranean catacombs located below the seediest, most crime-ridden part of Wilmington. "We'll get some sleep during the day and then figure out what we're going to do next."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	11. Wednesday, January 6, 2100 – 5:15 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Wednesday, January 6 – 5:15 p.m.  
**_"A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing." – George Bernard Shaw_

Joey Shigeta awoke to the sound of a light rain pattering on the tin roof of his Riverside apartment. One side of a decrepit duplex, the accommodations were absolutely luxurious by the neighborhood's standards. A thin smile threatened to cross the kindred's face until he remembered just how precarious his situation had become.

"You're awake," Jason muttered from the dark.

"How long's it been raining?" Joey asked, hoping that his one possible advantage had indeed come to fruition.

"Most of the day," the retainer said almost cheerfully. He knew why Joey was asking, and he knew that a day of rain was the one bit of good news they were likely to get for the foreseeable future. As it rained, the Delaware River rose. That brought more sediment down the river – sediment that was being washed away from extremely radioactive locales to the north. It was quite possible Riverside would be quarantined for a few days, and that would provide the two all the time they needed to formulate a plan.

"You feel sick at all?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. Might not be enough rain to raise rad levels."

"And if it's only been raining lightly like this all day, the levels will take another day or two to rise enough to shut the neighborhood down," Joey grumbled, suddenly facing the probability that he did not have as much time as he had originally hoped. "Fuck."

"So we have any plans yet?" the ghoul asked.

"I just woke up," Joey snapped. He looked around the small room, silently weighing his options. A voice screamed from the back of his mind, exhorting him to cut his losses and just leave Wilmington. _I don't know if I can just pack up and leave again. Not this time…_

"Should I pack the bags?" Jay asked, almost as if he could read his master's mind.

"Yeah, pack the bags," Joey instructed. "But we're not leaving just yet."

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna check on the team, first."

"We takin' 'em with us?"

"I've spent over a decade training them," Joey reasoned. "It'd all be a waste if I don't bring them along for the ride." Jay Grayson arched an eyebrow slightly at his master's words, but he did not say anything that betrayed his surprise at Joey's decision. "I'll be out for a couple of hours. If I'm not back – or if I haven't at least called in – by two, it means I'm dead and that you should take off."

"Sure."

"I'll see if anyone wants to come along. Though maybe the increasing irritation amongst everyone is a sign that we should just call the team quits and all go our separate ways. I should at least give them the choice, though." Joey grabbed his 10 mm, threw on a black overcoat, and strode out the doorway and into Riverside's catacombs, wrestling with the questions that kept plaguing him.

_Give them a choice in the matter? What the hell is that? And since when do I even care if I'm throwing away a team that I spent years training? Not like it's anything I haven't done before. Spending my time acting like a mortal is one thing, but actually getting attached to mortal playthings is something altogether different. It's dangerous._ He tried to focus on the questions themselves, and never on their answers. He did not want to give any serious thought as to why he had not already left Wilmington, either with or without his team. He did not ask himself why anyone in this team was any different than his last team. Or the one before that. He also did not ponder the lunacy of even comparing his current group with the one he had assembled in Erie; his previous team was, in almost every measurable way, superior to the inexperienced bunch he led now. _And I left them as soon as there was even the inkling of a hint of a chance of a suspicion that the local hunters had gotten wind of my presence._ He shook his head in frustration. _Stop thinking about it, asshole._

He looked around for a car to steal, hoping that the fairly mundane task of bypassing the vehicle's security system would help him ease his mind. It did not. He was behind the wheel and driving off into the light drizzle within moments, turning down Alexander Boulevard and heading for Gina's apartment building. _Okay, exactly what are you planning to say?_ he asked himself, trying the new tactic of focusing on the task at hand and not the reason for the task being necessary. He knew that, in many ways, Gina was the key to keeping the team together. She had been the first one he recruited, pulled from the streets at the age of fifteen and trained as a corp-jobber. Joey had supplied her with state of the art cybernetics and waited until she had finished growing. Then he made her his ghoul. By supplying her with some of his own blood – the mystical vitae of the kindred – he had halted her aging process, made her stronger and faster, gave her the ability to heal serious, sometimes life-threatening injuries, and made her unflinchingly loyal.

Gina was certainly experienced and well known enough to start her own team, though Joey knew that the vitae withdrawal she would suffer if he left would likely incapacitate her for some time. If she stayed on, though, Nicki almost certainly would, as well. With them on board, Winterbourne would not even think of leaving. That left only Stevie, and in the end, Stevie, like Winterbourne, was only muscle. _Kindred muscle, at that. Eventually he and I will have to go our separate ways, anyway._ Gina and Nicki were the most skilled members of the team; convincing them to go with him was essential.

Joey had become so lost in his thoughts that he had not even noticed the flashing, multi-colored lights ahead of him. As he approached, he became more and more convinced that the preponderance of emergency vehicles was gathered at the intersection of Alexander and Twelfth, right where the Alexander Court Apartments – Gina's home – were located. Joey stopped three blocks away and approached on foot, relying on the fact that the bystanders' attention all seemed riveted on the thick, black smoke that was billowing from Twelfth Street, from just out of Joey's view around the corner.

He reached the corner, having been forced out into the street by the throng of onlookers, and saw immediately that the top floors were engulfed in flames. _Top three floors,_ Joey saw, not needing to count the floors to see if Gina's apartment had been spared. She lived on the twenty-second floor, just below the penthouse.

"What happened here?" Joey asked, grabbing the nearest greenie he could find, locking eyes with him and dominating the young man's will in a fraction of a second.

"A fire," he answered, not even appearing to put up much of a fight to the vampire's question. "Started up on 22… I think I heard one of the firemen say that a stove blew up in 2207."

_Gina's apartment,_ Joey knew, fighting to maintain his composure, not wishing to draw any attention to himself. "Everyone okay up there?" he asked, hoping that anyone who overheard the conversation would think that he was just another nosey bystander.

"Only bodies so far," the greenie said. "Some of them were probably runners, too," he said, using the old-fashioned term that the cops used for corp-jobbers. "Lots of cyberware and late-night excursions helped pay the rent on those apartments."

"Thanks," Joey answered. He was tempted to dial Gina's voicemail and leave a message, but he decided against that, knowing that if she was the target of an assassination attempt – which he thought likely – then calling her might draw attention to her – and him – if she survived to get the message. _No, wait for her to follow the established protocol,_ he told himself. _You spent lots of time and energy preparing for a situation just like this. Trust her training._

The kindred turned on his heel and walked quickly toward his appropriated car, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might be watching while doing his best not to give the greenies any reason to stop him for making too many furtive glances. Once he was back in the car, he made a quick U-turn and started running through his alternatives.

_Well, Nicki was going to be my second stop, but I guess the obvious place to go now is Stevie's. I may need back-up, and that means I should get the guy who can heal bullet wounds in a matter of seconds._ He sped up, making a left onto Twenty-eighth and gunning the engine, counting on every greenie in the area to be at Alexander Court working crowd control. He kept his thoughts out of his head as he drove, concentrating only on achieving his goal – making it to Stevie's in one piece. The task was becoming more difficult every minute, as the light drizzle had grown into a cold, steady rain that obscured all of the potholes and made the streets slick and dangerous.

Joey spent more time gazing in his mirrors than he did watching the road ahead of him, to the point that he almost missed the right-hand turn onto Delaware. Stevie's house was three blocks up, directly ahead of him where Delaware dead-ended at Thirty-first. Joey was crossing Thirtieth when the building one block ahead of him exploded, the fiery blast momentarily blinding him while the force of the detonation spider-webbed his windshield. The car careened off the road and crashed to a stop against the front step of an old brownstone. Joey toppled out, fighting through the stars in his eyes to bring the scene into focus. Stevie's home had been obliterated, along with most of the homes on each side and a great deal of the ones next to them.

_No way someone goes to the trouble of using that much explosives without making sure Stevie's home when they blow the place to kingdom come,_ he told himself. He did not bother to point out the fact that seemed obvious to him – there was also no way Stevie, or anyone else, for that matter, was going to walk away from a blast like that.

Joey staggered back the way he had come, stumbling past the first bystanders to arrive on the scene, some of them marveling at the devastation a block and a half away, but most of them raising holy hell about the damage their own property had sustained.

Joey had not even managed to walk a full block when his legs gave out and he slumped against a parked, dust-covered car. He directed his blood toward his head, healing the concussion he knew he had suffered. Once the fog began to lift from his mind, he realized that the pain in his chest and right leg also indicated some fractured bones. He spent a few seconds healing those, as well, even as he began to contemplate his next course of action.

_Okay, Stevie's almost certainly dead,_ he decided. _Given how much someone obviously wanted to make sure of getting Stevie, I can only assume Gina was done just as thoroughly. Couple that with the warnings I got last night, and the obvious conclusion is that someone wasn't just after me – they're after the whole team._ He immediately began to go through his mental laundry list of enemies, starting with the prince he had just found out about and ticking off a slew of local corporations and wealthy entrepreneurs. _And of course, that's assuming I'm not dealing with an old enemy who finally tracked me down years after I thought I'd slipped away. I'll be here until the next Century Celebration if I start listing all of them._

"Wait a second," he muttered to himself, finding that the sound of his own voice helped him concentrate. "Someone took out Gina and Stevie in their homes," he realized. "The only people who know where each of us lives are the other people in the team. So unless I have something better to go on, my best immediate alternative is to start with the people in the team." Once he had thought of the situation in those terms, the answer was obvious. _It's Winterbourne._

Joey had fed his blood to Winterbourne steadily for months, far beyond the point where the street samurai would have been blood bound. _But what if Winterbourne is working for the prince?_ he asked himself. _The reeve appearing at my apartment last night is just far too much a coincidence to overlook. If Winterbourne had already been blood bonded to a vampire, then none of my blood would have made a difference in him. Gina and Nicki have both done more than enough to prove – time and again – that they're blood bound. There's just no other excuse for some of the asinine things they've done. Besides, I fed off of both of them before I bonded them, which is something I stupidly didn't do with Winterbourne. With him I found someone so perfect for the job that I slipped him some blood before ever looking in to his background thoroughly enough._ "I should have had my head examined with all this crap…"

Joey got back on his feet and walked quickly, turning up the next block and going to work on the first parked car he found. "I got lazy, and it cost me," he muttered angrily as the rain grew heavier still, now falling in sheets from the night sky. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed Grayson's number. There was no answer, so Joey left him a message.

"Jay, it's me. Lay low and execute Protocol Nine. Do not, under any circumstances, talk to anyone in the team, especially Winterbourne. If you see any of them, run, just in case." He hung up and made a quick left, driving as quickly as possible toward The Arcade. It seemed like a perfect time to swing by Pandas and Pucks.

_To be continued………………………………………_


	12. Wednesday, January 6, 2100 – 8:15 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Wednesday, January 6, 2100– 8:15 p.m.  
**_"Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation." – Tennessee Williams_

"Hey Ripley," Joey muttered, running his hand through his rain-soaked hair, trying desperately to appear nonchalant. The young man behind the counter looked up with a sly grin, his purple, chemical-treated eyes scanning the crowd in the game and electronics store for anyone who might be listening in on their conversation.

"Long time no see, Mr. Shigeta," Ripley responded under his breath, his grin spreading into a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous. "And what can I do for you this evening?"

"I left some things here a while back, saving them for a rainy day."

"And it's a dark and stormy night," Ripley quipped. A rough-looking teen with what Joey figured was about thirty facial piercings walked up to the counter, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Anyway, I heard you got your hands on an old vintage PlayStation console," the vampire added, speaking the words that he knew would gain him access to the back room and would leave their eavesdropper uninterested. "I was hoping I could have a look and maybe make a bid."

"I'm a little busy to be showing people antiques," Ripley responded with a dismissive wave, eliciting a chuckle from piercings-boy. "And I suppose you'll want to speak to someone concerning the merchandise. As if I have time when _real_ customers are waiting to be served."

"I'm not making a bid unless someone's willing to spend some time letting me check it out."

"Go in the back and wait maybe six or seven minutes," Ripley told him. "We've already had three people look at the console today, and I'm expecting at least four more tomorrow."

"Fine," Joey responded, walking toward a heavy black curtain that blocked off access to the back room. Once out of view, he removed a vintage Dr. Strangelove movie poster from the wall, revealing a small keypad. He typed in 6-7-3-4 and waited for a few moments, spending his time making certain he hung the poster as straight as possible. He knew that Lazarus' assistant was looking at him through the lab security camera, probably finding infinite amusement in his attempts to hang the poster properly. There was an almost imperceptible hiss behind him as a hidden door opened, allowing Joey access to the basement.

The vampire quickly disappeared through the secret passage, ignoring the hiss of the door closing behind him. He stepped into the brightly lit waiting room, immediately greeted by Lazarus's assistant, Pebbles.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Shigeta," she said with a smile, her red hair bobbing in its topknot.

"Good to be seen," Joey replied. He had always liked Pebbles. _Then again, it's hard not to like a woman who used a cartoon character almost a hundred and fifty years old as a source for her street name. And hairstyle._ "He busy?"

"Not when you're around," she answered, producing a thin cigarette case and offering one to the vampire.

"I thought you were quitting."

"Nah, I figured it'd be stupid," Pebbles responded as Joey took a cigarette and lit it with his own lighter. "I broke up with Pat, I dropped out of college, and I gave up my nice apartment. I figured I should get my act together, you know? Maybe find something and stick with it for a change." She raised the cigarette and smiled. "The cancer sticks are my way of making sure I'm not a quitter my whole life."

"You're a rock," Joey said with a smile.

"The boss-man wants me to ask what you came by for," Pebbles said.

"Business," Joey said evasively. "I need to pick up some things I left with him for safekeeping."

"That big black overnight bag?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll go get it. Wait here, though. I'm sure he'll want to talk to you."

Pebbles was only gone for a matter of seconds before the door to the back labs opened again. Lazarus gave a tired wave and gestured for Joey to follow. "We can talk in my office," he muttered, lighting a corncob pipe that emitted a strange, pink smoke that reminded Joey of cherry licorice. "Margaret says you came by to pick up some things," he commented, as usual calling his daughter by her proper name rather than Pebbles. Joey always found that quirk as amusing as Pebbles' choice of a name.

"Just my bag."

"So what went wrong?" Lazarus was not a stupid man, and Joey knew the street doc was well aware that if Shigeta was picking up stashed caches of money and weapons, it meant that he had been put in a position where he had no other choice.

"Not sure yet," Joey admitted. "I might need the briefcase."

"It's never been tested," Lazarus reminded him.

"I said _might_," Joey pointed out. "I'm not counting on it being that bad. I just wanted to give you a heads-up."

"Any chance you could spare a couple pints?" the street doc asked, just as predictably as the sun would rise the next morning. In Lazarus, Joey had found a street doc who not only didn't care he was a vampire, but was actually willing to do business with him. Somewhere along the line – and Joey had never been able to get an answer as to any of the details – Lazarus had learned about the amazing healing properties of vampiric vitae. Transfusing vampire blood into a mortal, in essence, turned the individual into a ghoul. On an instinctual level, the ghoul could then employ the blood to heal wounds in a matter of seconds, just as a vampire could. Wounds that normally would have resulted in death suddenly became survivable; the value of such a cure-all was incalculable. Being a street doc, Lazarus had many clients who received mortal wounds, and he always tried to keep a reserve of vampire blood for the richest and most desperate patients.

"Maybe one or two," Joey muttered, hating to spend the extra time but knowing he needed to keep Lazarus happy with the increasing likelihood that he would be calling upon him for some serious favors in the near future.

"Excellent. I'll have Margaret start prepping Lab 3."

The doctor walked out, leaving Joey alone in the office for several minutes until Pebbles carried in the overnight bag. "It's heavier than when you left it," she commented.

"Well, I've added a few things now and then," Joey responded.

"The boss-man says you're donating two pints before you leave."

"As long as you make it quick," Joey told her, standing and lifting his bag, leading the way to Lab 3. "I have an important appointment, and I want to make sure I get there before my host has time to properly prepare for me."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	13. Wednesday, January 6, 2100 – 9:45 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Wednesday, January 6, 2100 – 9:45 p.m.  
**"_You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough." – Frank Crane_

"Son of a bitch," Joey grumbled, watching Winterbourne's emergency haven from a block away. He put down his infrared rifle scope, convinced that Winterbourne not only expected visitors, but that he was well fortified and ready.

_Two options,_ Joey decided. _I could walk right up, making like I don't realize he's been taking out my team, or I could try to sneak up on him, take him by surprise, and then fillet him at my leisure._ The decision didn't take long.

He slipped out of his car and began to focus his attention on the streetlights, on the beams of light they cast on the road, and the shadows that existed at the edges of that light. He began walking slowly, knowing that his skill at manipulating shadows was such that no casual observer would ever see him, and that only a hunter would be able to notice the subtle shifting of the light around him and realize he was making use of vampiric abilities.

_Of course, Winterbourne isn't just some casual observer,_ Joey reminded himself. _He's an experienced street samurai who probably expects me to come calling, who was good enough to make my team's roster… and then wipe out that roster when he decided to._

Joey gripped his 10mm pistol tightly in his left hand as he approached Winterbourne's home, convinced that he'd been able to make all the way to the building's worn aluminum siding without being seen. He examined the alarm system on the window – a cheap model that made it obvious that the resident was not overly concerned about anyone who might be stupid enough to break in – and went to work getting around Winterbourne's disappointing safeguards.

Convinced he hadn't been detected, Joey slid the window open just wide enough to slip in, and then quickly closed it behind him. He holstered the pistol and drew a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun, crouched in the darkness for several moments, waiting and listening for slightest hint of Winterbourne's location. It didn't take long – he heard the refrigerator open, a brief clanking of bottles, and the refrigerator closing.

Joey was off like a shot, bringing Winterbourne to bear just as the street samurai was taking his first sips of a newly opened beer. Winterbourne froze, staring wide-eyed at the intruder who was glaring at him down the short barrel of his shotgun.

"Tell me why," Joey growled.

"Huh?"

"Tell me why you killed them," he explained. "Before I kill you, I just want to know why."

"I didn't do it," Winterbourne protested.

Joey simply frowned, clearly conveying his disappointment that the street samurai wasn't man enough to own up to his sins.

"I'm serious," Winterbourne pleaded. "I thought it was you."

Joey searched for any sign that the street samurai was lying, and then blinked when Winterbourne managed to flick his beer bottle at Joey while diving to his right. Joey recovered in time to fire, but he only grazed Winterbourne, who rolled toward Joey, sprang to his feet, and swiped at the small kindred with ten-inch, surgical steel claws that extended out of his wrist from their sheathes in his forearm.

Joey used his shotgun to block Winterbourne's first swipe, but felt his right thigh open up as the street samurai slashed with his left arm. The kindred dashed backward, straight into a wall, and barely avoided being eviscerated as Winterbourne lunged again, his body beginning to move at unnatural speeds as his cybernetically-enhanced reflexes began to spin up.

Knowing he had little choice, and willing to take a chance that there wouldn't be any hunters watching Winterbournes home unless they already suspected a vampire might show up, Joey started to make use of his blood. His movements quickly caught up to the street samurai, who moments later looked like he was the one moving in slow-motion. Joey focused his blood in his arms and legs, augmenting his strength, and managed to connect with Winterbourne's forehead. The street samurai staggered back, and then Joey drew his 10mm and fired once, straight into his opponent's right kneecap. Winterbourne crumpled to the floor, but looked up with a smile.

"Shoot me again and we're both dead," he said, slowly extending his hand. Joey immediately recognized a sunburst grenade, one of the favorite weapons of the hunters. A small, highly explosive device, the sunburst would cover everything in the room with phosphorous, leaving Joey's body completely incinerated by the time the rest of the building collapsed from the flames.

Joey started to back away, but paused when he saw Winterbourne shaking his head. "You made no secret about wanting to kill me," the street samurai said. "Way I see it, if I let you walk out of here, you'll just come back and pick me off at your own convenience. So it's gonna be like this – you try leaving, and I blow us both up. You shoot me again, and I let go of the dead-man's switch and I blow us both up."

"So basically, you're telling me I should get ready to be blown up," Joey said, furious with himself for having allowed the young corp-jobber to get him in such a bad situation. _I knew he's the type to willingly kill himself if it means he gets to take his murderer with him. I'm getting careless in my old age…_ "Or do you have anything a little more productive in mind?"

"Dunno," Winterbourne admitted. "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"So…" Joey said, wondering if he could maybe talk himself out of the situation. "You said you thought I'm the one who killed off the team."

"You saying you didn't?" Winterbourne asked sarcastically.

"Most of them were just blown up," Joey pointed out, looking at his team member's face. _Holy shit… He really **does** think I'm the one who did it. Which means it wasn't him, either._ "Why would I be careful enough to blow up the hacker but then walk into arm's reach of the street samurai? Have I ever done anything that'd make you think I'm that stupid?"

"Always a first time," Winterbourne countered. "Besides, maybe I have something you need. Maybe you needed to take me alive, to torture me."

"Are you _completely_ off your rocker?" Joey asked. "What could you possibly have or know that no one else in the team would?"

The vacant expression on the street samurai's face told Joey everything he needed to know. As Winterbourne stood there, considering an answer, he made the mistake Joey had been waiting for – he made direct eye contact. Joey reached out with his mind, grabbing a hold of the street samurai's will; he fought through the fear, rage, and stim-induced paranoia, and found the core of Winterbourne's thoughts. And at that core, Joey sensed doubt.

"I need you to calm down," Joey commanded in a soft, soothing voice, thinking he sounded much as he would if were trying to calm down an excited guard dog. "Just take a deep breath, and relax."

"Okay…" Winterbourne relented, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. "Okay…" He didn't move, but Joey could see him gradually relax, hesitantly shuffling his feet backward an almost imperceptible fraction of a step. "So now what?"

"I'm going to holster my weapon," Joey said. "And you'll flip the grenade's dead-man switch to the disarmed position."

"Uh-huh," Winterbourne muttered, following the vampire's command.

Now that Winterbourne was coming down off of whatever stims he'd taken, Joey could see that the street samurai was completely compliant. _He is blood-bound after all. So much the better._ "Now we'll talk," Joey said.

"Talk," Winterbourne repeated, seeming to take comfort in Joey's assurances. "What will we talk about?"

"We're going to figure out who fucked us."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	14. Wednesday, January 6, 2100 – 10:15 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…

**Wednesday, January 6, 2100 – 10:15 p.m.  
**"_Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome." – Isaac Asimov_

"If the guy is in there, I say we just go in and take him hostage," Winterbourne suggested.

"Take him hostage," Joey repeated, watching through his infrared binoculars as his good old Mr. Smith, Patrick Wallace, completed the business that had brought him to his mistress's townhouse that night. "What'll that accomplish?"

"Well, we'll throw him into the back of the car, drive over to his house, and threaten to kill his family unless he tells us what we want to know."

"And what if he doesn't know anything?" Joey responded.

"Well, after forcing him to watch us fillet his wife and kids, we can be pretty confident that any silence means that he really doesn't know anything," Winterbourne said. He smiled confidently, challenging Joey to find a flaw with his plan.

"And that seems completely reasonable to you?" Joey asked.

"Well, there are a few kinks we may need to work out along the way," Winterbourne admitted. "I mean, transporting him without being seen, disposing of the bodies, etcetera, etcetera."

"And how about the part where no one will want to hire us again because we might be linked to the murder of a former employer's family?"

"Oh… right," Winterbourne said. "Good point."

"There's a lot we don't know," Joey said, "but one thing we can be certain of is that our list of friends keeps shrinking as our list of enemies remains completely unknown. So let's do what we can to keep this guy alive."

"Yeah… that's a better plan than mine," Winterbourne muttered with a shrug. "So…"

"So we go in real quiet-like," Joey said. "The two of them aren't done in the bedroom yet, so we have a few minutes to sneak in. Then we'll wait until they're finished, and we'll have a friendly talk with Mr. Smith, keeping it as non-confrontational as we can."

"Fine," Winterbourne grumbled.

Figuring a way past the security system and into the townhouse was easier than Joey expected, and he ended up waiting outside for several moments before entering, convinced that he must have overlooked something or set off an alarm he never saw. But all he could hear was moaning and a creaking bed frame, and all he could see was Winterbourne's impatient scowl as they crouched in the shadows of a shrub.

"I guess we should just go in," Joey finally decided, confident that, if nothing else, he couldn't hear the sirens of any greenies responding to reports of a break-in. They slipped into the building, and Winterbourne immediately went to work disabling the townhouse's phone system and setting up a small white noise generator that would prevent any type of wireless communication.

While the street samurai made certain that Wallace and his mistress were cut off from any assistance, Shigeta approached the bedroom door and waited. The moaning had stopped, so he pulled out his infra-red specs to make sure that both of his targets were still in bed. Satisfied that there weren't any surprises waiting for him on the other side of the door, he focused his blood into his legs, increasing his physical strength as he clicked the safety off his pistol. One solid kick splintered the doorframe and sent the door crashing open.

"Don't move," Joey growled. He pressed lightly on the trigger, lighting up the laser sight that he only used on jobs like this. He could see perfectly well in the dark, and he wasn't going to miss a human-sized target lying motionless ten feet away; but what he needed was for Wallace and his mistress to understand their position before they tried something stupid.

The red dot settled on the center of Wallace's chest, and rather than scream at the unexpected intrusion, his mistress gasped and froze in place.

"Who are you?" Wallace asked. "I know that voice."

"I'm a runner," Joey told him, using the traditional term that corporate types used for men in his line of work. "I've worked for your company before."

"Ah, Mr. Shigeta," Wallace said smoothly. To his credit, he did a remarkable job of hiding his anxiety.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone," Shigeta assured them both, "and I'm not making any recordings," he added, making certain that Wallace could rest easy that he wasn't about to be blackmailed.

"So why are you here?" Wallace asked.

"I need information," Shigeta answered. He took his fingertip off the trigger, and the laser light blinked out, leaving the three of them completely in the dark. "Someone's been hitting my team; there are only two of us left now. I don't know who's being watched, so I figured I'd come here in the middle of the night and sneak in, hoping no one would see me. The only reason I came in with the gun is so that neither one of you would start shooting. I'll pay for the door, too."

"Very gracious," Wallace muttered. "Am I supposed to thank you?"

"I don't care," Joey replied, walking forward from the doorway slowly, allowing enough room for Winterbourne to walk up behind him, using his broad shoulders to fill the doorway. "I just need information."

"And I don't see why I should give you anything," Wallace countered. "In case you've forgotten, this is the second time this week you've had me at the business end of your weapon. I think you've more than used up any goodwill you've accrued over the years."

"Listen, I-"

Joey was interrupted by a deafening explosion that tore through the room. He was barely aware of shattered glass slicing open several gashes on his face, and through the muddled haze in his mind he was aware that he was lying on his back.

He looked behind him and saw Winterbourne struggling to his feet, his legs wobbling unsteadily beneath him. Out of habit, Joey started redirecting his vampire blood to his head, using it to recover from his concussion in a matter of moments. As his senses returned to him, he quickly assessed his situation – there was a gaping hole in the building where the window used to be, the room was on fire, and Wallace and his mistress were scattered in several parts all around the room.

"Breach!" Joey heard a man yell from outside.

He didn't wait to see who was coming through the door – he raised his hand and started firing, grimacing when he noticed that his forearm was hanging from his upper arm at a sickeningly unnatural angle. The bones in his arm were shattered, the appendage hanging by a thread, and it made it impossible to get off a well-aimed shot.

_But I don't need a perfect shot,_ Joey told himself, hoping he was right. _All I need is to keep whoever's out there from coming in here._

"One of them's still alive!" a second voice yelled.

"Hit it again!" the first man answered.

Joey grabbed his right forearm with his left hand, pressing the dangling appendage against the stump of his upper arm, willing the wound to start mending even as he sprinted from the room, driving his left shoulder into Winterbourne's chest when he reached the doorway, leveraging the street samurai over his shoulder and carrying him back out into Wallace's living room. A high-pitched whistling screamed out behind him, and the bedroom erupted into flame once again, the result of a second rocket strike.

The concussion from the blast threw Joey forward, and he collapsed to the floor beneath Winterbourne. On the bright side, he noted, he'd been able to succeed in reattaching his arm well enough to put up a fight.

"You alive?" he asked the street samurai.

"Yeah," Winterbourne grunted. "Who are those guys?"

"Don't know," Joey admitted. _But they're not low-grade muscle, that's for sure. That's some serious ordnance they're firing._

"They made it out of the bedroom," a voice yelled from outside. "And one of them's barely above ambient."

"We found us a vamp," a man announced.

_Fucking hunters,_ Joey cursed. _And they have infrared. No way we just sneak out of here._

"We have to make a run for it," Joey told Winterbourne.

"Just torch the place," a man said outside. "If they make it out here, we'll just pick them off then."

"Any ideas?" Winterbourne asked.

"There was a sewer grate about ten feet in front of where we parked," Joey says. "We make it there, we have a good chance of escaping."

"So all we have to do is make it out of here, across the lawn, twenty feet down the street, and through a sewer grate, all while god knows how many hunters with guns are shooting at us."

"A real Butch and Sundance moment," Joey agreed.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Joey replied. "You ready?"

"Sure."

Joey was on his feet in a second, already directing his blood to his arms and legs, increasing his physical strength and stamina even as he quickened his reflexes to superhuman levels. He was confident that no two of the hunters waiting outside would be a match for him, but he made sure he kept in mind that there were certainly more than two. _Human hunters decimated the kindred population,_ he reminded himself. _They killed elders that were millennia older than you are. Don't do anything stupid, and don't take anything for granted. Just run your ass off; flee today, live to fight another day._

"Allow me," Winterbourne said. Joey saw that the street samurai was holding a sunburst grenade again, and that brought a smile to his face. "Anyone using infrared is about to suffer some permanent eye damage."

Winterbourne tossed the grenade out, and Joey started counting. On three, he started running, Winterbourne several steps behind. On five, he shut his eyes, seeing the blinding blast through his eyelids and hearing the agonized screams of two distinct voices. _The others probably saw the grenade and switched off their infrared in time,_ he decided. He opened his eyes and started looking for targets, firing at everything that moved, comforted by the deafening automatic fire from Winterbourne's sub-machinegun.

Joey was almost to the sewer grate when the first bullet hit him. The round tore through his thigh, knocking Joey to the ground. The first thing he realized was that it burned. A couple of seconds later, the burning sensation had erupted into crippling pain. _Phosphorous rounds,_ he knew. _Of course they're using phosphorous. They're goddamned hunters._

Winterbourne finally caught up, falling into a defensive crouch as he laid down cover fire, giving Joey a moment to struggle to his feet. He didn't look at his leg – he knew the wound was bad – and struggled the last few steps to the sewer grate. The steel was firmly encased in concrete, so Joey dropped a grenade inside, hoping that would be enough to loosen the metal at least a little bit. After the explosion, he grabbed a hold of the grate and pulled. Even his inhuman strength, fueled by his undead vitae, was barely enough to get the job done. But Joey did succeed in getting the grate free.

"Fuck me," Winterbourne muttered when he looked at Joey. And then he fell back onto the pavement when one of the hunters managed to get off a well-aimed salvo.

"Shit!" Joey yelped. He grabbed a hold of the street samurai and started pushing him down into the sewer when he was hit was a second phosphorous-tipped bullet. And a third. Joey could hardly see through the pain, but he managed to push Winterbourne down and jumped in behind him.

"Leave me." Winterbourne's words were the first thing Joey's pain-addled mind was able to process after a few moments spent regaining his thoughts.

"We can make it," Joey said, knowing the words were a lie even as he spoke them. _He's your ghoul,_ he reminded himself. _He's blood-bound to you, willing to die for you. Take him up on the offer._ "You have any more of those grenades?" Joey asked.

"One," Winterbourne gasped. "And the dead-man's switch. Though I don't know how long I'll be able to keep my finger on the button."

"Good luck," Joey muttered.

He turned and started staggering away through ankle-deep water, slipping awkwardly on the slimy floor beneath his feet. He was aware of voices above them, at the sewer grate, but he was completely unable to make out the words through his pain.

Joey had just rounded a corner when an explosion tore through the sewer tunnel, knocking him from his feet. He barely maintained consciousness, and was terrified when he realized he was on fire. A primal terror erupted in his mind, and he shot to his feet, trying to outrun the flames that engulfed him. The only thing that saved Joey's life was the slime on the floor of the sewer tunnel. He slipped and lost his footing, tumbling into the putrid water and extinguishing the flames.

He felt darkness beckoning to him and slowly became aware that he was on the verge of unconsciousness, of falling into torpor. _No,_ he thought angrily. _Not here. Not like this._

Joey struggled to his feet, forcing his mind to assess the situation. _That was Winterbourne's sunburst grenade, so he's dead. There's no one else watching my six, and I'm just not lucky enough for the blast to have killed all of those hunters. I have seconds to get out of here._

He forced the pain from his mind, imagining his sire walking beside him, berating him for his weakness. That provided all the motivation he needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other long enough to reach a fork in the tunnel. He went right, and then left at the fork after that, and on and on until his legs finally collapsed beneath him. He had no idea how long he waited there, waist-deep in the water, listening intently for any pursuit.

After finally deciding that he'd eluded his any hunters who survived Winterbourne's last stand, Joey climbed the first ladder he found and ascended to street level. The sky was still dark, but there was the hint of slowly approaching gray in the east, which told the kindred that he didn't have much time before dawn. After getting his bearings, he made his way to his haven, staggering in to find himself alone.

_Grayson should have been here by now,_ he told himself. He grabbed one of his extra phones and called in to the team's voicemail. A two hour-old message from Grayson let him know that Nicki was dead, the few bits of her that survived a horrific crash now permanently fused to the burned-out interior of her car. _Well, that's all of them,_ Joey thought, feeling more worn down and defeated than sad or angry.

The only one he didn't know about for sure was Grayson, but his absence spoke volumes. _I don't think he made it._ All of Joey's other thoughts were washed away by the pain that flooded his mind, finally overwhelming the grim determination that had kept him moving for hours. He never knew whether he'd fallen to sleep with the sunrise, or whether he'd passed out from the pain; all Joey ever knew was that he didn't remember anything else until he woke up the next night.

_To be continued…_


	15. Thursday, January 7, 2100 – 5:45 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Author's Note: **For those who've read my profile page recently, you've probably already realized that what I wrote in my author's note in chapter 1 of this story is no longer true -- this is likely _not _the last World of Darkness story I'll ever write. In fact, I may write several more (excruciatingly slowly, and maybe never finishing what I start), though I'll only consider doing so as a co-author. However, none of those are likely to be set in this story's timeline -- this was planned as a stand-alone, and it will remain that way.

…………………………………………………………

**Thursday, January 7, 2100 – 5:45 p.m.  
**"_Adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature's inexorable imperative." – H.G. Wells_

Joey surveyed the bare walls of his haven, running through a mental checklist of everything he'd taken from his safehouse and making certain that he'd packed it all away. As with his apartment, he wouldn't be able to return for anything he left behind. He took his time setting the charges – white phosphorous incendiaries to incinerate the haven without the fuss and muss of large, attention-grabbing explosions.

He was out the door, the quickly growing flames warming his back as he staggered away, forcing the pain from his mind before he began to give any serious thought to his destination. His blown up his home and torched his most secure haven. Everyone in his team was dead, so he knew that he couldn't take a chance on any location associated with them. All that remained was a loft downtown and a small room at the back of a hangar at the airport. He hadn't taken any great pains to hide either one of those locations, and thus he couldn't rely on them to be secure, either. _And being all shot up like I am, I can't just check into some small hotel anonymously. Someone is gonna notice I should be in the morgue, and not wandering around town like a lost tourist. _He needed to get off the street, and he needed to do it fast. But his mind was swimming through a haze of pain and hunger, and his small collection of safehouses had long since been exhausted.

_What I need is a place I can count on to be safe, but where no one is going to think to look for me,_ he pondered, avoiding the appraising stare of a homeless woman standing at the end of an alley. Something in the back of Joey's mind rose up, imploring him to lunge at her, to tear into her throat and gorge himself on every drop of her blood. He shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate through the urges of the Beast, the primal, id-driven lust to satisfy his thirst and consume the blood that would help him heal his wounds, ease his pain, and at least partly sate the constant hunger. _More than likely, there are hunters out on the street, looking for a half-starved, wounded vampire to do something stupid,_ he told himself._ I'd bring them down on me in a heartbeat, and for what? She's hardly a snack. _

The vampire continued to wander aimlessly for almost an hour before he realized that his body was getting extremely cold. He stole the first car he found, and within moments he had the heater turned up on high and the radio blasting, disrupting his concentration but also drowning out the raspy voice that whispered from the back of his mind. _There's no harm in finding just one homeless person to feed on,_ it teased, the Beast opting for smooth temptation over direct bestial urges. _A quick bite and a drink, and you'll be able to clear your mind. Everything else will seem so much easier…_ "No," the vampire muttered, turning up the radio so loudly he couldn't even hear his own words. "I can't feed until I know I'm safe, until I can be certain no one will see and call the Hunters. I can't let them finish the job." He glanced around and realized that he had already made it halfway across town. _I still may not know where I'm going, but at least I'm making far better time._

The car was running on fumes when he finally thought of a place where he might be safe. He hit the gas and drove until the engine sputtered, shutting down moments later with its fuel gauge resting below empty. He got out and walked, moving quickly and hoping to avoid the attention of any reapers before he reached the apartment. There was no answer when he knocked on the door, so he let himself in and made a lettuce and carrot sandwich.

By the time his hostess arrived, Joey was leaning back comfortably, smoking a cigarette and drinking a Coke while leafing through a recent edition of To Kill a Mockingbird. He never moved from the couch, knowing better than to do anything that might spook a gun-toting dancer.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Salona asked, glaring at her guest down the barrel of her 9 mm pistol.

"Having a snack, reading a book," Joey replied, keeping his hands where Salona could see them, ignoring vivid fantasies of turning her into a late-night meal.

"How'd you get in?"

"That's not exactly the best lock in the world," the vampire commented with a shrug. "You should complain to your landlord. Truth be told, you should be asking why there aren't a whole bunch of squatters hanging around eating your food instead of wondering how little old me got in."

Salona kept staring at him, her weapon raised, trying to figure out what to say or do next. Joey held his tongue, intent on allowing the girl to take charge of the situation. "So I suppose you're in trouble," she finally said. "At least you took my warning. Not every tough-guy runner would."

"Yup, still alive," Joey noted. "And I didn't even need Boo Radley to come to my rescue."

"Huh?" Salona asked.

"Never mind," Joey said, shaking his head as he placed the book down on the coffee table in front of him. "So… you happen to know who was after me? A warning to look out was nice, but I'd also appreciate some idea of where I should go looking for payback."

"Just what I already told you," Salona replied. "I overheard some guys I didn't recognize."

"Would you recognize them if you ever saw them again?"

"Maybe. Can't be sure." She finally lowered the gun. "You leave any soda for me?"

"It's right there in the fridge," Joey said with a wave, hiding a grimace as a searing pain shot through his shoulder. Salona ran her hands through her hair as she walked into the kitchen, allowing a fleeting glimpse of the back of her neck. The soft, white skin practically screamed out to Joey, but he managed once more to keep the hunger from his mind. He tried not to notice that it was getting steadily harder to hold the Beast at bay. He needed to feed, and he needed to do it soon; his self-control wasn't going to hold out forever.

"Not to be rude, but I need you out of here," Salona said, opening a soda as she walked back into her small living room. "I have some friends coming over."

"I'd love to meet some new people," Joey replied with a grin. _And I'd love to maybe feed on each and every one of them before my stomach eats itself from the inside out._

"Sorry, it's girls' night," Salona told him. "Seriously, you need to leave. You're a nice guy, and you've always tipped well, but I don't like you breaking into my place. Don't make me have to call the greenies."

"Oh, I'd hate for you to do that," Joey said. He fought his way to his feet, doing his best to hide his pain, and then locked his gaze onto Salona's. "But at the same time, you don't want me to leave." He felt Salona's will crumble beneath the force of his mind before she was even able to agree.

"You're right," she said. "I don't want you to leave."

"You want me to stay and meet your friends," Joey continued. Out of force of habit, he gestured slightly with his right hand, a silent ode to a movie few people remembered anymore.

"I want you stay and meet my friends."

"And you'd like me to stay here with you for a little while, at least until I get myself back on my feet," Joey finished.

"You'll have to stay," Salona said. "Like I said, you're a good guy; I'd like you to hang out until you get yourself back on your feet."

"Thanks," Joey said. Once again he looked at Salona's neck, but this time he found it slightly easier to hold the Beast in check, reminding himself that now he had a plan, that there would be others coming by very soon. _Just be patient, and you'll be fine,_ he told himself. _Just a little while longer._ "Now, Salona… if you'd be so kind as to come over here so I can take a closer look at your earrings."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	16. Sunday, January 10, 2100 – 3:45 am

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Sunday, January 10, 2100 – 3:45 a.m.**  
"_O divine art of subtlety and secrecy! Through you we learn to be invisible, through you inaudible and hence we can hold the enemy's fate in our hands." – Sun Tzu_

As Joey blinked the sleep from his eyes, he grimaced in response to the unfamiliar feeling that his stomach was eating itself from the inside. The first thought through his head was, _Salona is in the next room. She's powerless against you. It'd be so easy…_ "Fuck," he muttered, sitting up, fighting through the pain as the wounds on his abdomen stretched, dry scabs splitting but not bleeding from a body that was almost completely bled out. "I can't keep this up much longer." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. _Inhale strength, exhale aggression,_ he told himself. _Inhale patience, exhale anxiety. It will all be okay. I have a plan – I don't have to go on a murder spree._

Joey had almost completely driven the Beast into a dark corner in the back of his mind when a soft knock at the door disrupted his thoughts. "Joey, are you awake?" Salona asked.

And just like that, Joey was back on the verge of tearing out the woman's throat. "Keep the door closed," he told her. _I have to find a way to get more blood,_ he admitted. He had fed twice already from Salona, and he knew that he couldn't risk feeding again if he hoped to keep her healthy. _She's worth far more to me alive than she is dead. Alive, she can bring back a few friends every night. Dead, she's just gonna stink up the place. It'll take time, but she'll get me what I need._

Joey started doing the math in his head, hazarding his best guess as to how long it would take him not only to heal his wounds, but also to drink enough to return to full strength. _And I have to let Salona feed once in a while, too,_ he reminded himself. In the three nights since he'd arrived at Salona's apartment, he'd had her feed three times. She was bound to him now, a loyal retainer, but she was still just starting to build up her strength as a ghoul. _I guess I'm eating for two,_ Joey thought, smiling thinly, wryly amused at the idea.

"Are you okay?" There was genuine concern in Salona's voice, but Joey hardly noticed. _Of course she's concerned,_ he thought absently, oblivious to the caustic, hostile influence the Beast was subtly exerting upon his thoughts. _The dumb bitch is blood bound. She's willing to do anything for me now. Including giving me her throat, which would be fair since I spent three days feeding her blood that would have been better used recovering from my injuries. It's just a matter of taking back what's rightfully mine…_

"Fuck," he muttered again. "I'm fine," he called out angrily. "It's just… Look, I need you to do something."

"Of course."

"Go to work, just like normal."

"You sound like you're in pain," she interrupted. "Maybe I should stay here and take care of you."

Joey heard her hand on the doorknob, heard it start to turn. "Keep the goddamn door closed," he snapped.

"Okay," she answered sheepishly. Then, "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go to work," he told her again. "You've been away from the club for two nights, and I don't want anyone starting to get suspicious."

"Okay," Salona said. "I can do that."

"And near the end of your shift, I want you to lure one or two people into coming back here with you," Joey added. This time, there was only silence from the other side of the door. Joey couldn't even hear Salona breathing.

"I, uhh…" she finally replied. "I mean… Why?"

"I'm a vampire," Joey reminded her. "I'm hungry. I expect you to be smart enough to figure this out on your own. Do I really have to spell this out for you, Salona?"

"My name's Bethany," she told him weakly from the other side of the door. "Bethany Hunt; my friends call me Annie. Salona's just my stage name. I figure Salona sounds more normal than Mirage or Chardonnay, like some of the other girls. I think the guys like it… it has more of the 'Girl Next Door' thing going for it."

"Fine, I get it," Joey growled. "Okay, do I really have to spell this out for you, _Annie_? Do we need some charts and graphs or anything?"

"No," she said immediately. "No, Joey. I'll do it. I just… Are you going to kill them?"

"Kill them?" Joey asked. "What the--" He stopped himself in mid-sentence, trying to bear in mind that his new ghoul had grown up in a world where humans knew about vampires, where they were raised to fear and hate them, where his kind were viewed as monsters to be put down. _It's been so long since I created a new retainer, I sort of forgot how much of a pain in the ass this is for the first decade or so._ He started at the thought, amazed that he already thought of Salona – _no, Annie,_ he reminded himself – as a retainer. Joey had made several ghouls in the past decade, but all of them were corp jobbers in his team, men and women whose physical strength and recuperative abilities could easily be dismissed as the effects of cyberware and gene treatments, and none of them ever actually got too close. But a retainer, a ghoul who would likely have to pose as a normal human for many years to come… they were dangerous, tending to learn more than enough to pose a threat not just to their regents, but to the kindred as a whole. He hadn't even considered taking a chance like this since he'd made Grayson. "I'm not going to kill anyone," Joey assured his ghoul.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"What is this, twenty fucking questions?" he snapped. _Seriously, calm down,_ he told himself again.

"I'm sorry," Annie said quickly. "I didn't mean it. I just… I…"

"If I kill them, I might attract the attention of some hunters," Joey pointed out. "No, I'm just going to feed a little bit, like I did with you."

"And are you going to let them feed from you, too?' Annie asked. She didn't even try to hide the jealousy in her voice.

"Do I have any reason to?" Joey asked. "I mean, if you're willing to help me, then I don't have to go to anyone else, do I?"

"No," she said immediately.

Joey smiled, satisfied that the blood bond was complete. "I'll just feed, and then we'll send them on their way."

"And what if they tell?" Annie asked. "What if people find out about you?"

"They won't remember anything," Joey assured her. "I can alter their memories. I promise."

"Okay," she said. "I'll be back an hour or two before sunrise."

"Make it two," Joey told her. "And be careful," he added. He knew his ghoul would appreciate the sentiment, and he told himself that it was sound advice; after all, she wouldn't be very useful if she ended up getting carved up by reapers.

Joey stayed in the small second bedroom until Annie left, not taking any chances that he would lose control of his hunger when he set his eyes on her. _Okay, a few months,_ he decided. _I'll lay low and feed on people she brings around. I'll slowly heal my wounds, and then I'll concentrate on regaining my strength, all while I help her develop her abilities. And by the time I'm ready to go back out, maybe the hunters will assume I never survived the explosion in the sewer tunnel._

_To be continued………………………………………_


	17. Monday, June 7, 2100 – 9:00 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

**Author's Note: **Shameless self-pimpage. **Icy Mike Molsen** and I have been (very slowly) working on a joint project which we've started posting. It's named _Escape From New York_ (so what if we're crap at coming up with original names for titles?), and you can find it right here in the World of Darkness section.

…………………………………………………………

**Monday, June 7, 2100 – 9:00 p.m.  
**"_The Chinese use two brush strokes to write the word 'crisis.' One brush stroke stands for danger; the other for opportunity. In a crisis, be aware of the danger – but recognize the opportunity." – Richard M. Nixon_

Joey inhaled deeply, well aware of the fact that the last time he had been out, it had been winter. Now the air was hot and humid, flavored with a summer that was boldly returning after a poor, two-and-a-half-week impersonation of spring.

The small vampire remained in the shadows, thankful that his reemergence happened to coincide with the night of a new moon. _It's louder than I remember,_ he decided, noting the background hum of the city – automobile engines, honking horns, and what sounded like a group of kids playing kickball on the next block over, trying to fit in just a few more outs before it was too dark. It all reminded him of his childhood in the Los Angeles suburbs, when children still played outside and the adults were all busy going somewhere, doing something. _And when there still __**were**__ Los Angeles suburbs. __I don't think it was this loud a year ago. New year, new century, newly emerging society._

Even the deep red and purple streaks that colored the western sky seemed brighter, clearer. _And come to think of it, when was the last time I dared go out this soon after sunset?_ the vampire asked himself. _Twenty minutes earlier and I would have risked being fried._ He pushed the thoughts from his mind, concentrating on the job at hand rather than on how ecstatic he was at finally being out of Annie's apartment.

As much as he'd grown to like his ghoul – and to appreciate the completely random hodgepodge of information she brought back from work every night – he acknowledged that she'd started to drive him crazy with the way she frequently hovered in his personal space. Joey had never really considered himself a loner, but he definitely appreciated the value of time spent away from people.

He pulled out a scrap of paper and read it for the umpteenth time, ignoring the fact that he'd memorized not only the addresses, but also every feature of the handwriting, weeks earlier. Not long after his confrontation with the Whisper, Joey decided that he needed to locate the so-called prince of Wilmington. He didn't believe in coincidences, and that meant he couldn't overlook the fact that he'd stumbled into the crosshairs of the city's most notorious vampire hunter less than 24 hours after being approached by the prince's reeve. _Or at least someone who claimed to be the reeve,_ Joey corrected, reminding himself not to take anything for granted. _Still no evidence that there're any other kindred in the city, or that one of these mystery kindred was stupid enough to claim the title of prince, or that if such a kindred actually made such a boneheaded move, that this Cale guy is actually the prince's reeve._

He reflected on what he _did_ know. _I was warned that people were gunning for me, and then I met that mystery kindred, Cale. A few hours later, my team was wiped out and I barely escaped the Whisper. It all started after the break-in at MediStem, a company that the supposed reeve claims the prince controls._ His train of thought arrived at the same place it always did – either the prince had sold out him and his team to the hunters, or the hunters were already watching the prince, and Joey inadvertently brought attention to himself when his team hit Medistem. _Either a new enemy, or some really bad luck._

"I need to know," Joey muttered, smiling as he realized he was still trying to talk himself into caring. He could think of no logical excuse to remain in Wilmington, all while he could give a plethora of sound reasons to leave the city behind forever. "I can't leave until I know who I pissed off. I don't want to get shot in the back fifty years from now just because I didn't deal with a simple problem right now." He shrugged. It was all a pathetic excuse, and he knew it. In those fleeting moments when he actually considered being honest with himself, he decided that he was probably staying because he was pissed off. He'd gone decades without having anyone dare to treat him the way he'd been treated in Wilmington, and he damn well didn't feel like simply walking away. It was recklessly emotional, the kind of mistake he'd gone decades convincing himself he was too old and wise to make, but at least it was the truth. He figured that had to count for something.

His eyes passed over a parked car, but he decided to forego a vehicle in favor of taking a walk. It felt good to stretch his legs, and it wasn't like he had far to go. Joey spent enough money on luxury items to know that there were only three places in Wilmington where one could purchase authentic, imported Italian leather shoes like the pair the reeve had been wearing. One of the shops was right in the middle of the Arcade, a high-profile location that Joey frequented but which he expected most kindred would avoid. The other two shops were within two blocks of the Arcade, and Joey already knew which one he would go to first.

He arrived at the front door of Giovanni's and immediately walked around to the side of the building. Giovanni De Rosa, the owner of the trendy boutique, was widely considered to provide the highest quality clothing – including shoes – in Wilmington, though from what Joey had been able to determine, the sole reason for the distinction was that Giovanni charged more than anyone else did. Since customers paid more (often for the same products that could be had for less elsewhere), they assumed that they were getting higher quality. And of course, the fact that they paid more was itself a status symbol, an indication of the customer's wealth and influence. _It's the perfect place for a kindred prince – and his reeve – to do their shopping._

There were two windows on the side – both of them protected by top of the line security systems that Joey was certain would irritate him to no end. He went around to the back and found another door adjacent to an alley. Joey examined it and sighed; if anything, the system on the rear door – inconveniently illuminated by a bright security light – was even more imposing than the one on the windows. _Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna try breaking in the front,_ Joey decided, well aware that local businessmen made generous contributions to the greenies' widows and orphans fund to ensure frequent patrols rolled through the posh neighborhood. _Well… if I go to all this trouble, I'm not gonna bust my ass climbing through a window, too. The back door it is._

He dug into his pockets for his crypto-computer and skeleton mag-lock key, then inserted that into the card-reader, letting the computer go to work while he examined all of the additional security precautions. Along with the primary mag-lock controlled by the encrypted card reader, he found magnetic sensors that he assumed fed into a centralized security system somewhere inside the store, and two good, old fashioned deadbolts. The deadbolts took more time than he anticipated, forcing him to face the reality that he'd gotten rusty during his long recovery, but he still finished on those just as the crypto-computer deactivated the mag-lock.

Knowing the security system probably activated a timer as soon as the primary lock was disabled, Joey pushed the door open, tripping the magnetic door sensors, and searched for a control-pad on the wall in the small storage room. He found it almost immediately and was relieved to find that he only needed a simple passcode to disarm the system. _Usually have at least fifteen seconds for this,_ he told himself as he tore the bottom off the face off of the control pad, leaving only the display intact and exposing a bundle of multi-colored wiring inside. He deftly cut through the bundle, taking the wire running from the base of the console between his left thumb and forefinger, and connected the tip of that exposed wire to each of the others in the bundle, one at a time, until the alarm system switched over into standby mode.

Joey took several minutes to pack up his equipment before proceeding further into the building, giving the greenies plenty of time to respond on the off-chance that he'd missed something. From his experience, it was always easier to escape when one had only to run out a single door than it was to elude police that have time to surround a building and set up a solid perimeter. Once he was satisfied that the greenies wouldn't be pounding down the door anytime soon, Joey opened a door from the storage room and walked into an in-house design studio. The scents of dye, chemical treated fabric, leather, and oil hung heavily in the air, and Joey allowed himself a few moments to glance over some of the items that Giovanni's custom designers were working on. At least until a barely audible click behind him demanded his full attention; the sound of the hammers being pulled back on a double-barrel shotgun were hard to mistake.

"I'm thinking it's a little late to be shopping," a man muttered behind him, his words colored by an extremely thick Eastern European accent Joey had trouble placing. The man was clearly trying to sound unconcerned, but Joey could detect the undercurrent of anxiety.

"I'm not here to steal anything," he said slowly, making sure he didn't provide any reason for the nervous man behind him to pull the trigger. The last thing he wanted was to end up shot on his first night out of the apartment – Salona would never let him hear the end of it.

"The check-out girls are gone for the evening," the man replied. "You'll find it hard to pay. Or maybe you're telling truth… maybe you're after something else…"

"I don't follow," Joey replied. He began redirecting his blood to his extremities, preparing to attack the man with an unexpected burst of supernatural speed. He only needed to buy himself a few more seconds.

"You come to steal designs, yes?" the man asked. It seemed as if he'd already convinced himself that this was the right conclusion, as his voice was rising with every word he spoke, betraying his increased comfort with the situation.

"I just wanted to look around," Joey answered, deciding that maybe he could get further with the truth than with whatever lie popped into his mind first, no matter how creative or convincing it might be. "I wanted to see if I could find a list of some of your customers."

"Trying to poach customers from Mr. De Rosa?" the man asked incredulously. "I'm afraid he won't approve."

"I'm sure." Joey was a blur as he sidestepped to his left. He pivoted on his left heel and turned to face the man, who was trying to track his moving target as he fired his first round. Even moving as fast as he was, Joey noticed two rather important details: First, the man was moving faster than Joey expected; second, a jet of green flame burst forth from the shotgun barrel as he fired, betraying the fact that the man was using phosphorous rounds. _He knows what I am!_ Joey realized. _Fuck!_

He abandoned his attack in midstride, choosing discretion over aggression. It likely saved his life. The man with the shotgun launched himself backward and fired in midair, the fiery blast cutting through the very space that Joey would have been if his instincts hadn't saved his hide yet again.

The man landed smoothly, rolling backward and bouncing back to his feet, rising to meet Joey as the vampire renewed his assault. The chambers in the shotgun were both empty, and that meant there was very little to fear. The man wielded his weapon like a makeshift club, swinging with surprising precision and speed, but it only took Joey a couple of seconds to disarm the man and put him at the wrong end of Joey's own sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun, drawn from a concealed holster on his lower back.

The man had moved quickly, but too smoothly to have cybernetic implants to speed his reflexes, and the beads of sweat on his brow indicated that he wasn't a vampire. That left very few possibilities to explain unnaturally fast movement. "You're a ghoul," Joey said, shaking his head in disbelief. _I can't believe someone was reckless enough to make a ghoul and put him top work in a public place like this. It's beyond stupid…_

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man protested. He was still playing the part of a hard-ass, but Joey could see from the look in his eyes that he wasn't going to do something stupidly brave; the man knew that he'd been beaten.

"We don't have much time," Joey pointed out. "The greenies will be here in moments. That means you have a choice – you can give me quick, direct answers to my questions, or you can force me to decide whether I'd be better off taking you with me and torturing the information out of you, or just blowing your head off and leaving your body for the greenies to scrape off the floor."

"I… uh…"

"Clock's ticking," Joey said.

"What do you want to know?" the man asked, relenting far too quickly for Joey's taste. He knew he'd likely only end up getting lies.

"Who made you into a ghoul?" Joey said, locking his stare on the man's eyes, overpowering the mortal's will in an instant, hoping that his vampiric abilities would help improve the results of his interrogation.

"Martha Sabatini."

"Who's that?" Joey demanded.

"My master," the man answered evasively.

"Cut the shit," Joey warned. He could hear two distinct sirens approaching, reminding him that time was short. "I'm not playing games. I need to find the prince," he said, hoping his assurances would help put the man's mind at ease; he remembered from Cale's information that the prince was a man, and obviously Martha was not. He knew the ghoul was blood-bound to his master and therefore unlikely to give out information that might harm her. But the prince, on the other hand… the ghoul might willingly part with some information about him. "I need to present myself to the prince, that's all. I don't know where to find him."

"Just presentation, yes?" the ghoul asked.

"Yes," Joey said.

"Sullivan's Steakhouse," the man said. "The prince is there almost every night."

"Perfect," Joey replied. "You've served your mistress well." Joey's sword strike was so fast that the ghoul never saw it coming; his smile was still on the face of his decapitated head when the greenies arrived at the dark, empty boutique.

_To be continued………………………………………_


	18. Tuesday, June 8, 2100 – 9:45 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Tuesday, June 8, 2100 – 9:45 p.m.  
**"_If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles." – Sun Tzu_

Joey Shigeta checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror, making certain that every hair on his head was exactly where it was supposed to be, that his tie's half-Windsor knot was as close to perfect as he could manage, and that there wasn't a speck of dust on his black silk suit-jacket. Finally satisfied, he stepped out of his borrowed car and walked toward Sullivan's Steakhouse in Wilmington. Once a thriving restaurant in a budding chain at the time of the old economy's collapse, Sullivan's had closed down for thirty years before being bought and reopened – with many of the old furnishings completely intact – after the wars. While the sign read, "Steakhouse," Joey knew better. Subject to the same food shortages and restrictions as every other restaurant in Wilmington, Sullivan's most commonly served a variety of seafood and shellfish with a heavy dose of vegetarian sides. _Although when steak is available, they're just as willing to overcharge for it as they were back during the time of the original owners,_ Joey mused.

"Elysium," the vampire muttered under his breath as he approached the front door, curious to hear how the word sounded coming from his lips. It had been a long time since he'd said it. _Too long… but strangely, still not nearly long enough._

"Good evening, sir," a waitress said as soon as Joey walked through the front door. He suddenly felt alone, exposed, and vulnerable. The woman's black hair framed a smiling face that seemed all the paler in contrast to the tight black cocktail dress she wore. _I should have waited until I had back-up,_ Joey cursed silently, immediately shaking off the memories that a stray thought had stirred up. There was something dangerous about the hostess; at first glance she seemed normal, if admittedly moneyed, but the dress, the makeup, her very demeanor, all screamed out pre-Collapse. Joey doubted there would be kindred greeting guests at the door – that was far too public and vulnerable a position. _She's a ghoul,_ Joey knew. _Probably at least as old as Jay was._

"Hi," Joey replied with a smile, expertly concealing his concerns. "I have a reservation for Andrew Minamoto."

"Yes, party of one," the hostess confirmed, glancing down at the thick reservation book in front of her. Joey noted the refined effect of using an actual book, complete with genuine paper and leather bindings. The woman glanced into the dining room and then turned to Joey with a practiced look of disappointment. "They're clearing your table right now," she explained. "It could still be a few minutes. Perhaps you'd enjoy a cocktail in our back room?" Joey assumed that the hostess either knew or had somehow been signaled that he was a vampire, and that an invitation to the back room was routine for one of his kind. _There definitely aren't many kindred in the dining room, _he decided, noticing that dozens of people in the restaurant were eating, drinking, laughing, and generally behaving in a way that was completely un-kindred.

"The back room…" Joey repeated, disappointed at how much of his anxiety shined through in his tone. "Sure." A waitress immediately walked up to the podium where the hostess was standing and gestured for Joey to follow her. They walked toward the rear of the building, the waitress ushering him through large, ornately carved English oak doors and into the back room. As with the Speakeasy, the back room of Sullivan's was as much a portal into another place and time as it was an entrance into a more exclusive part of the restaurant.

The room was huge, a second story added to allow for a ceiling – decorated with elaborate cornices and masterfully done frescoes highlighted by unobtrusive silver light fixtures high along the walls – more than twenty-five feet from the floor, providing enough space for a glittering, antique chandelier that Joey was certain had been imported from Europe – he guessed France – and which was likely worth as much as the building, itself.

Darkly stained hardwood floors soaked up a great deal of the pale, shimmering light, creating a comfortable, Old World atmosphere. The walls were also darkly stained wood, decorated with an assortment of paintings that, upon close examination, seemed to be dominated by van Gogh, Gaughin, and Renoir. The furniture was all wood, and from his experience in and around many of San Francisco's Victorian homes before the wars, Joey guessed it was all genuine, late-18th century work.

There was a hint of wood oil in the air, though the heavy, cloying cigar smoke made it almost undetectable. Across the room, a massive, oak bar dominated the far wall. Several men and women, dressed to impress and sipping from crystal goblets that Joey guessed contained blood, stood around making small talk. There were several tables arranged throughout the room, though all but one were unoccupied. The sole exception was a large, round table in the back corner, allowing a full view of the room and everyone in it. _And more importantly, allowing everyone in the room to be able to see him,_ Joey decided.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he'd found the prince. An impeccably well dressed man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, the prince was speaking with a young woman who stood above him, her body language betraying her difficulty at achieving her goal of staying a respectful distance while also making it appear as if the prince was allowing her to stand closer than he did anyone else.

Joey stopped a few steps into the room, gazing at the prince when his instincts took over and, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of someone approaching from his right, from a part of the room he had initially thought to be unoccupied. _Obfuscate,_ he thought immediately, reminding himself too late that he should be on guard for enemies who might be employing vampiric abilities. It had been so long since he'd spent much time around his kind that he'd forgotten to go through his mental checklist before he walked into the room. _Better late than never,_ he decided, commencing a focused sweep of the room, checking the corners and the shadows for anyone who might be hiding, searching for telltale bulges under the sports coats of the men and on the hips of the women.

"Mr. Shigeta," a familiar voice commented.

"Mr. Cale," Shigeta replied, continuing his review of the room and its occupants before he turned to the reeve and engaged in the social niceties he knew were expected of him.

"This certainly is a surprise," Cale said. "I suppose you're here to present yourself?"

"Of course," Joey answered, turning and shaking Cale's hand as amicably as he could manage. "I suppose that's him?" he asked, gesturing toward the man in the corner.

"Good eye," Cale replied with a patronizing grin that Joey felt was more than wasted on him. "He does cut a rather impressive figure, doesn't he?"

"He does," Joey agreed, keeping his thoughts to himself. _Between the way the room is set up to draw one's attention to that corner, and the way everyone is subtly trying to attract his attention, I'd have to be brain dead not to realize that guy is the prince. Cuts an impressive figure my ass…_ "How exactly does one go about presenting himself?" Shigeta asked. "It would obviously be rude just to walk over…"

"I'll announce your arrival and escort you over when the prince is ready," Cale explained. "You can wait at the bar until then."

"Sounds great," Shigeta replied with a grin that he hoped looked more genuine than it felt. He strode away from the reeve and toward the bar, stifling a grin as every eye turned toward him and three of the kindred made an obvious, awkward display of employing the vampiric discipline of presence, trying to make themselves more attractive in order to gain the attention of the newcomer. Joey disappointed them all and proceeded purposefully toward the one and only person in the room who really mattered to him – the bartender.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked as soon as Joey's hands touched the wood.

"Vodka martini, dry, twist of lime."

"Umm…" the bartender answered uncertainly. "Perhaps you'd prefer something from our exclusive list," he prompted, giving a sideways glance toward several carafes that clearly contained blood.

"Vodka martini. Dry. Twist of lime," Joey repeated slowly, doing his best to stifle his irritation. "A non-Russian, European vodka if you have it." _No way in hell I'm drinking blood from a carafe,_ he thought with disgust. _There's no telling where it came from, or which one of these clowns might've added a bit of his own vitae to the mix. Anyone who drinks from any of those is an idiot,_ he decided, concluding that he might be the sole competent vampire in what appeared to be a community fully qualified for the short bus.

"Hi, I'm Simone," a young woman said from Joey's left, apparently deciding to be the first one to speak to Elysium's newcomer. "I'm a Toreador." That bit of information came as little surprise. It had been decades since Joey had had a conversation with the self-professed most refined kindred clan, and he found that he had not exactly been missing the experience any. His eyes passed over her; a cute, petite figure, wavy blonde hair that fell halfway down her back, brown eyes, a skimpy black cocktail dress, and the first real pair of FMP's Joey had seen in decades clearly gave Simone an image that would once have earned her the label of a young – and impressionable – socialite. In short, she was the Toreador poster child.

"Hi," Joey replied, forcing a warm smile as he reminded himself of the reasons for his visit. He would not gain anything by alienating people. "I'm Joey."

"First time here?" the Toreador asked, something in her tone warning Shigeta that despite her broad, friendly smile, Simone had not missed the fact that he'd passed on an opportunity to announce his clan affiliation. He decided to follow what he had always felt was the best course of action when dealing with inquisitive Toreador – he distracted her with the opportunity to discuss what was almost certainly her favorite topic. Herself.

"I would have come by sooner if I'd known there were women like you here," Joey commented, looking over Simone's figure once again, this time with all of the subtlety of a brick through a window. "I bet you spend hours in the gym… and it must be almost impossible to find clothes that do your figure justice. You have your own designer on staff?" Simone's eyes lit up when she heard the double-barrel compliment, and she immediately began to regale Joey with riveting tales of her attempts to import French and Italian fashions, and of all of the different workout routines she tried before she found something that seemed as if it had been made with her in mind. Through it all, the only respite was the few moments it took to pay for the martini, which had taken so long to arrive that Joey assumed they'd needed to send a waitress out front to get it. Joey smiled and nodded at Simone's every word, amazed that blood had not started spraying out of his ears by the time the reeve joined the two of them at the bar.

"Mr. Shigeta, the prince is ready to meet you now," he announced in a formal tone.

"We'll have to continue this sometime," Joey said as he took his glass from the bar and smiled at Simone. She gave him a seductive pout in reply as he walked away, but he was still well aware of the fact that she bolted straight over to several other vampires as soon as he was gone. _Probably has to report in and tell them everything she found out about me,_ he decided. _So after the five seconds it might take to explain that I'm new here and my name is Joey Shigeta, she'll get chewed out and then they'll send someone older and more experienced to grill me as soon as the prince is done with me. Oh how I missed this,_ he thought with no small amount of sardonic amusement.

"So you're Mr. Shigeta," the prince stated as soon as Joey arrived at his table. The prince gestured for him to take a seat, and Cale remained standing behind him during the interview, obviously there to discourage Joey from trying anything stupid.

From what he could tell, given that they were both seated, Joey guessed the prince was of average height, within an inch or two of six feet. He had well-trimmed hair that made Joey guess the prince naturally had long hair, but that he had it freshly cut every evening. His suit was obviously expensive; it was custom-tailored silk, and the cut and fit led Joey to guess it was the product of an English designer. Manicured nails, perfectly aligned teeth, and skin that actually looked like it was freshly exfoliated brought Joey to a startling conclusion – the prince was a post-apocalyptic metrosexual.

"Yup, I'm Joey Shigeta."

"Is that short for Joseph?" the prince asked, looking over his guest with the same practiced attention to detail that Joey had employed, himself.

"It's just Joey," Shigeta replied. "And you are?"

"Travis Lee," the prince answered, his lip curling the slightest bit as he spoke. Joey guessed that the prince was not used to having people be curt with him.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Lee," Joey said, extending his hand. The prince ignored the gesture and gazed at him indifferently as they sat in silence for several minutes. Joey waited patiently, never seeing a need to break the silence, allowing the prince to play whatever game his atrophied heart desired.

"So… exactly how long have you been in Wilmington?" the prince finally asked.

"Awhile," Joey answered. "Several years, at least. To be honest, I don't remember exactly when I came in. I laid low for well over a year, living off rats while I made sure none of the hunters had any idea I was here." That was all a lie, but Joey knew the story went a long way toward making him sound young and vulnerable, and that was exactly the image he wanted to present.

"Understandable," the prince commented. "And smart. Not all of our younger residents are so cautious. My reeve tells me you took your precautions to an extreme when he tried to introduce himself to you some months ago."

"I was under some stress at the time."

"He also reported that you were quite rude."

"Well, I didn't realize that an unannounced visit on behalf of a prince I had never heard of – in my own home in the middle of the night – was anything that deserved the greatest degree of hospitality," Joey countered.

"Thus far, I think I'd have to agree with David's assessment of your character – you're not exactly polite, are you?"

"It's a common complaint."

"How old are you?"

"Is that generally considered a very polite question to ask only moments after meeting someone?" Joey asked with a well-practiced, dangerously confrontational tone.

"It's a question that is my prerogative – and duty – as the prince," Lee replied, impressing Shigeta with his self-control. In the old days, quite a few who called themselves princes would likely have ordered their sheriffs to flay Joey for his insolence. "And given the result of your earlier meeting with my reeve, I expect an answer."

"I was embraced in 2043," Joey said with a sigh, as if he were irritated at being forced to relent. He decided that was about as late a date as he could plausibly give for an embrace. He angrily remembered his careless references to the Inner Council, the Justicars, and the threat of the Sabbat while meeting with Cale, and he knew his lack of discretion on that occasion now forced him to admit to being at least a little older – and stronger – than he would have preferred to let on.

"Hmm…" Shigeta wondered what that meant and decided to hold his tongue and wait until the prince decided to add anything on his own. "I would have guessed you were younger."

"Why's that?" Joey asked, taking a sip of his martini and relishing the look of disgust he elicited by indulging in mortal fare.

"Despite your admittedly well-tailored suit, you lack… refinement," Lee explained. He gave a meaningful glance toward the bar, where all of the assembled vampires smiled like good little sycophants. _I think I was smarter than I initially thought by not drinking the blood. I'll bet quite a few of those dumb bastards got themselves blood bonded to this guy._

"I may lack refinement, but I've probably been alive longer than most anyone in the room," Joey said confidently.

"You'd be surprised," Lee answered.

"Yeah? How old are you?"

"I seem to remember you just mentioning that you felt that an impolite question so early in our relationship," the prince said.

"Yeah, well… I figure we've known each other twice as long now as we did when you asked me. Besides, running the risk of an awkward faux pas didn't seem to concern you any." Joey knew he was pushing it now, but he wanted to see just what kind of man this prince was.

"You have a very dangerous attitude, Mr. Shigeta," the prince admonished. "Even had David not already told me, I would be able to guess that you're Brujah."

"I never said I'm Brujah," Joey objected. "I only said I was once Brujah… I no longer claim that distinction. Hence, the nice suit."

"Then you're clanless?"

"So you say," Joey responded with a casual wave, fishing a cigarette and a lighter from his jacket pocket. He lit the cigarette with a flourish of his hand, noting that the prince paid attention to the fact that he never winced at having an open flame directly in front of his face.

"It occurs to me that it's strange for you to come here tonight, several months after your presence was first requested."

"I had an accident on my way to reporting in," Joey explained.

"Oh really?" the prince asked, his tone indicating that he already knew why Joey had not been around sooner, but that he wanted to hear his guest say the words.

"The Whisper found me," Shigeta said. "Me and a friend. We managed to kill The Whisper's apprentice, but it got my friend killed and me one step from death's door. It took me months to heal my wounds, what with the way I had to be extra-special careful, knowing that he was probably keeping an eye out for me, just in case I poked my head out. I can't imagine he'll ever be willing to let the murder of his favorite apprentice slide, and there's no way I outrun The Whisper or manage to kill another apprentice – no one's _that_ lucky."

"I doubt it," Lee agreed. "So… you're the one who killed Richards. We've been wondering who did that. And I suppose it's because of that that you're now coming to me. For protection."

"Can't hurt, might help," Joey admitted, taking a long drag off the cigarette.

"Hmm…"

Again Joey wondered what the prince was thinking, though he was willing to hazard a guess. The prince's alternatives were less than ideal – he clearly wanted to bring in any new kindred he could find in the area, especially if they were capable enough to kill one hunter and escape another; but he also would not want to upset the fairly idyllic calm he seemed to have arranged for his city's vampire population. Joey might bring combat effectiveness and new blood, but he would still be taken for Brujah. The Brujah had always been known as the most unpredictable and independent-minded of the clans, and the handful that survived were seen as veritable paragons of their clan's traits, as stereotypically independent and iconoclastic as Simone was stereotypically beautiful.

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Shigeta," the prince finally said.

"Great."

"As of this moment, you're the only Brujah I know of in the city."

"I'm not --"

"I know you no longer claim to identify with the Brujah," the prince interrupted, "but I think you may find my proposition quite attractive."

"I'm listening," Joey said warily, doing an excellent job of hiding his satisfaction at the expected turn he thought the conversation was taking. As soon as he saw the back room with its European décor, as soon as he realized how dignified and sophisticated the locals thought themselves, and as soon as he heard Simone proudly introduce herself by her clan affiliation, Joey knew that this prince was living in the past, that he was striving to recreate the kindred world the way it had once been, decades earlier.

"I would like you to take a seat as one of my Conclave," Lee stated. Joey hoped he managed to appear suitably surprised by the offer.

"As a Brujah," Joey grumbled, making sure he didn't accept too readily. "I don't know. There're reasons I broke from my clan, and I don't know that it would be anything but opportunistic to go and claim to be Brujah now, just so I can get special treatment. It's kind of a Ventrue thing to do. No offense. Besides, it's not like the Brujah were ever big on joining in on the Camarilla's reindeer games. They were never fans of organization, rules, or meetings."

"But as a primogen you would be entitled to certain perks," the prince pointed out. "For instance, you would be free to start populating your clan here in my city, under my protection."

"But any childer I embrace, assuming they decide to claim the mantle of the Brujah, would simply become pawns on a chessboard," Joey responded, carefully avoiding any implication that he was referring to the prince's chessboard, or that he himself would simply be another – albeit more valuable – piece in the same game.

"We're all pawns to be used by those more powerful than we are," Lee countered. "Whether kindred or kine, the only way to end it is to make ourselves strong enough to start games of our own."

"Fine, I'll think about it," Joey muttered, standing up and walking away from the table, feeling the reeve's eyes on him as he left. _Well, that went about as well as I could have hoped,_ he decided, surprised that the prince had made the offer despite the attitude that Joey had given him early in their conversation. He could only conclude that Wilmington's prince was old enough to remember the Brujah and the latitude that most princes had traditionally granted them.

"Hey, Joey – wait up," Simone called out as he was walking toward the double oak doors.

"I'm in a hurry," Joey answered. "I have things to do, people to see. No, wait… switch that."

"I thought maybe we could hang out or something," she said, either ignoring or missing Joey's attempt at humor.

"I'm almost out of time," Joey apologized, glancing at his watch. "Almost midnight – I have to be home before I turn into a pumpkin."

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Shigeta grumbled. "How about tomorrow?"

"When and where?"

"How about right out front?" Joey asked. "Maybe at ten?"

"See you then."

"Great," Shigeta said as enthusiastically as he could manage. He turned on his heel and walked out as quickly as possible, already mapping in his head the winding, roundabout route he would take home, hoping to lose anyone who might tail him back from Elysium to find out where he lived. He made a mental note to have Salona go out during the day and rent a new apartment for him, and then he hoped for the best as he slipped into the cover of the nearest shadow.

_To be continued………………………………………_


	19. Wednesday, June 9, 2100 – 2:27 am

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Wednesday, June 9, 2100 – 2:27 a.m.  
**"_We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology." – Carl Sagan_

"Wow, haven't seen you in a while," Ripley commented as he glanced up from the scattered pieces of an old Rosetta deck, spread out in a chaotic mess that Joey was certain made some kind of sense to Pandas and Pucks' owner. "Figured you probably hit it big and retired."

"No you didn't," Joey countered.

"No… I didn't," Ripley admitted, grinning slightly. "Nice to see you aren't dead, though. Spend some time licking your wounds in a vat or something?"

"Nothing that dramatic," Joey replied, quickly stepping closer and lowering his voice. No matter where you went in The Arcade, there was always some would-be hot-shot hacker looking to earn a reputation. Pandas and Pucks hosted more than its fair share of wannabes, and the last thing Joey wanted was a bunch of people lining up for unsolicited job interviews. _Even though I __**did**__ come here looking for employees,_ Joey reminded himself.

"Need to see the Doc?" Ripley asked.

"Actually, I came around to see you," Joey answered. He was aware of two teenage boys doing their best to eavesdrop, but judging by their tattered denim jackets they were unlikely to have the hearing enhancements they needed from that far away. "Though I should probably reserve a few blocks of time with the Doc before I go, too."

"So what do you need?" Ripley asked curiously. He turned up a portable radio – an absolutely outdated relic that was so old it was cool again – and trusted that to provide all the white noise required to cover their muffled conversation. "Last I heard, you weren't one to run around in the matrix yourself; you always paid someone else to do it for you."

"Yeah," Joey agreed.

"But if you're taking up a new hobby, I'm sure I can dig up a good deck and plenty of soft to get you started. Good prices, too," he added, smiling broadly, his purple eyes twinkling under the shop's fluorescent lights.

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks," Joey said. "I'm not about to make an ass of myself trying to play at slamming mainframes like you kids."

"So you're looking to hire someone," Ripley concluded.

"I am."

"And why did you come around here?" Ripley asked. "There are plenty of places to find what you're looking for. And if you're looking to hire me, well… I'm flattered, but I--"

"I'm not looking to hire you," Joey interrupted. "You work with a man I do business with, and I'm not about to start stealing his partners; that's bound to end badly. I don't want anyone who's established or who has any kind of notable work history."

"Oh," Ripley said.

"But I need someone good," Joey added. He knew Ripley was smart, that the hacker completely understood the situation. Now it was just a matter of hoping Ripley would be willing to offer up someone he knew.

"There're a couple of guys who might work," Ripley muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "They've both done the typical small-time shit – swiping porn, hacking bank accounts, cyber-graffiti. Don't know that either one is ready for anything corporate, but no one's gonna be watching them, figuring them to be ready for the big-time. They're competent and, if nothing else, they're clean." Ripley left unsaid the understood addendum – no one would miss these guys if they disappeared.

"How often they come in?"

"At least twice a week," Ripley said. "Usually it's just to brag to their friends about their latest conquests, but sometimes they actually spend some money… often enough so I put up with them coming around, anyway."

"I'll be back a week from tonight," Joey explained. "Same time. Mention that someone's looking to hire, and tell them to come around. Completely on the q.t. If I come around and there's a bunch of wannabes thinking they can score interviews or try to impress me with stolen code or data, I'm just gonna walk right back out."

"And the finder's fee?" Ripley asked.

"Five-hundred if I hire one of them."

"And if you hire both?"

"I won't," Joey assured him. _Only one of them is gonna survive the interview process,_ he added silently.

"If you're not gonna buy anything, I'd appreciate you heading out," Ripley said over the noise of the radio as he turned back to the deck, relieving the two teens of the burden of trying to listen in without being any more conspicuous than they already were. "Feel free to look around if you want; I can think of at least two or three things in the back that might interest you. We also have eight-packs of skillsoft on sale, and if you've got money to burn, I have one hell of a deck I've been putting together."

"Not that thing, right?" Joey asked, pointing to the relic in Ripley's hands. "Because even I know that's _so_ five years ago."

"Looks that way," Ripley agreed, "but that's kind of the point." He smiled broadly, the cat that ate the proverbial canary, and Joey couldn't help but grin back.

"I'll look at some of the antiques," he muttered, walking toward the back room. He checked his watch quickly, deciding he had at least a half hour to give to the Doc, and then immediately shifted his mind back to business. He was still uncomfortable with the idea of staying in Wilmington when it was clearly smarter to cut ties and leave, but if he was going to stay, he knew he had to do it right. _Take your time,_ he reminded himself. _After all, Rome wasn't built in a day._

_No, it took hundreds of years,_ he imagined a young, long-dead friend adding sarcastically. _And you're not old enough to know how to be that patient._

_To be continued………………………………………_


	20. Wednesday, June 9, 2100 – 4:15 am

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Wednesday, June 9, 2100 – 4:15 a.m.**  
"_Anyone who's stupid enough to put stock in the so-called 'Rules of War' deserves everything you're gonna do to him." – Erica Blackwell_

"Hey," Salona said, a broad smile on her face as she walked into the apartment and tossed her light jacket onto the arm of the couch. "How ya doin'?"

"Busy," Joey replied, slightly irritated at the interruption.

"What're you up to?" Salona walked over and stood over Joey as he sat on the floor, his shoulders hunched over as he gazed at the small computer screen in front of him.

"I'm checking on some of my foreign accounts," Joey muttered.

"How foreign?"

"Two in Erie, one in Mobile, and one in El Paso," Joey answered. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to get through all this as quickly as possible, before some jackass kid clamps onto my signal, hacks my accounts, and steals my money."

"So why not go to a bank?" Salona asked. "That'd be the safest way."

"Other than the fact that banks aren't open at night?" Joey asked sarcastically. "Most of this money doesn't come from the most reputable sources."

"Earned it all running?"

"Okay, look… I need you to leave me alone for a little while," Joey snapped. "I've had a long night; I'm tired, and I have a big fuck-all headache."

"I didn't know vampires could get headaches."

"Seriously, you need to leave the room," Joey said, his voice holding an unmistakable hint of menace.

"Fine," Salona said, sighing heavily as she threw her hands up into the air dramatically. "Let me know when it's safe to come back out into my own living room."

"And one other thing," Joey added. "I need you to schedule some time off from work."

"What for?"

"You're getting some implants," Joey told her. "Invasive stuff…you'll need time in a vat."

"Really?" Salona asked, her eyes suddenly wide. All of her irritation evaporated, leaving a young woman who reminded Joey of a child on Christmas morning. "What is it?"

"Give me a few minutes and we'll talk about it," Joey said.

"You got it, boss."

Once she was gone, Joey couldn't help but let a small smile pass across his lips.

--

"So what's it gonna be?" Salona asked when Joey finally joined her in her bedroom. "Claws? Sub-dermal armor? Reflexes? Arc generator?"

"No claws," Joey began. "You already have the fingertip razors."

"But claws are way better," Salona pointed out. "I can actually use them in a fight. With the razors, well… they're really only good up close, when the person isn't suspecting anything."

"True," Joey admitted, "but I don't plan on you doing heavy combat. If I want a street sam, I'll go hire one."

"Fine," Salona grumbled. "So what are you planning to do to me?"

"Reflexes, for starters," Joey said.

"How advanced?"

"Only level one."

"What?" Her face scrunched up into a frown. "I could do so much more for you if get me better equipment."

"You won't do me any good floating around in a vat for the next month and a half," Joey countered. "I need you out and on your feet within a week and a half, Annie. This isn't open for debate."

"Fine."

"You're getting a basic reflex augmentation, and I'm adding in some skillware."

"No way," Salona objected. "That shit's spooky."

"I don't care," Joey told her. He could understand her concerns, but that didn't mean he was willing to brook any argument. Skillware was incredibly invasive wetware, linking cranial implants with synthetic grafts throughout the body's entire nervous system. The system allowed the user to insert a small microchip that provided a skill the individual had never actually learned. If he needed Salona to fly a helicopter, he could have her insert pilot skillware; if he needed her to speak a foreign language she never studied, there were chips for that, as well. The more advanced – and invasive – the implanted system, the more adept the user could be with the selected skill; but as soon as the chip was removed, the individual was left with only an echo of an ability they'd used masterfully only moments before. Corporations often installed the systems on indentured support staff, but few independent operators ever opted for artificial skills; a wide enough array of neurological and physical problems were associated with the system after prolonged use that most people were scared away.

"So do I get to ask what you have planned for me?" Salona asked bitterly.

"I'm making you a gunner."

"A grunt?" Salona spat. "Are you kidding me?"

"I would prefer if you didn't use that word," Joey replied calmly, "especially as a pejorative. I have a very specific role in mind for you."

"And if I don't agree?"

"You'll keep it to yourself," Joey told her. "While I consider you a very close friend, let's not forget the fact that you serve me. I reward your loyalty with strength, health, and immortality."

"I want to be a street sam," Salona said, not quite meekly.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," Joey said. "Besides, that's beneath you. You're an incredibly intelligent woman, and we're going to put that mind of yours to some good use. I see no point in implanting you with titanium claws and sub-dermal body armor, then chemically and genetically augmenting your strength and speed when you'll soon learn how to use my blood to accomplish the same ends. I need retainers with very specific skill sets, and your first step toward developing those skills is to become a gunner."

"Fine."

"Good," Joey responded, nodding. "If it's any consolation, you won't be plugging into any of that run of the mill shit you hear about on the streets. You're getting a state of the art weapons interface, and you'll only be plugging into military grade hardware."

"Promise?" There was a flicker of joy behind the disappointment in Salona's eyes, and Joey was surprised to find how pleased he was by his retainer's sudden change in spirits.

"Why would I lie?" Joey asked.

"You wouldn't," Salona said confidently. "So exactly what hardware are you thinking?" she asked mischievously.

_To be continued………………………………………_


	21. Wednesday, June 9, 2100 – 10:20 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

…………………………………………………………

**Wednesday, June 9, 2100 – 10:20 p.m.  
**"_It is essential to seek out enemy agents who have come to conduct espionage against you and to bribe them to serve you. Give them instructions and care for them. Thus doubled agents are recruited and used." – Sun Tzu_

"I don't know that this is quite what I had in mind when I said we should get together," Simone commented from the back of Joey's vintage Harley Davidson, screaming to be heard over the wind that – in the absence of a working speedometer – let them both know they were riding far faster than the posted speed limit.

"Let me guess – you'd rather see a museum," Joey yelled sarcastically. When Simone was conspicuously silent, he slowed the motorcycle to a stop and stared at her. "You _weren't_ planning on going to a museum, were you?" he asked, sparing enough attention to flip off a driver that took umbrage at Joey's decision to hold this conversation in the middle of the road.

"Umm… no," Simone said hesitantly. "Well, not _just_ a museum," she clarified. "I thought we could go to a museum first, and then maybe see a band I know that's playing at a club later."

"You do realize that it's almost 10:30, right?" Joey checked. "The museums are closed."

"The Wilmington Museum of Classical Arts is having a special show this week," Simone explained. "They're open until 2 a.m., tonight through Saturday, as a cultural alternative to the bar scene. And I think it's a great idea."

"Of course you do."

"My sire actually pushed for it," she added. There was something insufferably haughty in her expression, but the wild way her hair had settled after their short ride on the Harley – along with the spoiled pout on her lips – made Simone look cute in the strangest way. It made Joey far more willing to play her games and ask the question she clearly wanted to answer.

"Your sire? Who's he?"

"She," Simone corrected. "Alexandra Kelly." The Toreador uttered her sire's name with the proud air of one who expects the name to be recognized. Joey simply shrugged his shoulders, immediately receiving the stunned stare he expected. "You've never heard of Alexandra Kelly?" she asked incredulously.

"Should I have?"

"She's the Toreador primogen," Simone explained with a conceited, impatient tone that Joey had always felt only the Toreador could ever properly muster. "She's been in the city for over fifty years. In fact, only the prince is older than her."

"There's gotta be someone else older than fifty years," Joey replied skeptically.

"Alexandra is _not_ just fifty," Simone retorted. "I only said she's been in the city for fifty years. She was actually embraced back in the twenties."

Joey stifled his initial reaction of shock before reminding himself that to a kindred as young as Simone, the twenties meant the 2020's, and not 1920's, as it did to him. "Wow, that _is_ old," he agreed with a reverent nod of his head. "That's, like, old enough to remember before any of the wars started."

"Yeah, she was actually embraced just as the Sabbat Twenty Years War was starting," the Toreador explained, not telling Joey anything he could not have figured out on his own. "She's actually fought Sabbat."

"No way," Joey said, doing his best to sound impressed as he stifled a chuckle. "Not many around who can say that. They haven't been around for forty years."

"More like fifty," Simone corrected.

_Actually, more like twenty-five,_ Joey thought silently, remembering a small pack he'd wiped out two decades earlier. The young Lasombra priest had claimed to be the descendant of the last bishop, and thus he felt entitled to rebuild the extinct vampire sect as the first bishop of the new regime. Joey had taken it upon himself to exterminate the upstart, all of his progeny, and any vampires he had known or who had known him. He was not going to allow any hunters the chance to figure out the kindred still existed, as they no doubt would very quickly if any vampires started living according to the high-profile tenets of the Sabbat. The one thought that plagued him ever since then was his certainty that the would-be Sabbat bishop he'd run into couldn't possibly be the only jackass with delusions of grandeur. Somewhere, someday, some Sabbat descendant would be stupid enough to embrace a few packs' worth of vampires, and a whole new generation of cybered hunters would answer the call to arms. He just hoped he wasn't the only kindred looking to address such issues before they became a problem.

"So… a museum," Joey muttered, shaking off his memories as he tried to figure a way out of a night of culture. _No doubt an after-dark showing at the museum will be attended by several Toreador and their ghouls, all of them known to Simone and unknown to me. Bad enough I'm forced into coming out here alone to gather intel… I'm not gonna be stupid enough to conduct the mission on their turf if I can avoid it._ "I don't suppose there's any way I can talk you out of it."

"Well, I sorta promised Alexandra that we'd stop by," Simone answered. Joey didn't miss that she said 'we,' and not 'I.'

"I know a fantastic bar down in Riverside," Joey countered, immediately suggesting what he thought Simone's worst-case scenario. While not dressed formally, she'd still paid a great deal of attention to her makeup and her stylish, earth-tone ensemble. Given how much time she'd obviously spent on her hair, he couldn't believe he'd actually gotten her to ride on the back of his motorcycle; expecting her to agree to walk into a violent waterfront pub full of drunken, dirty sailors and pirates was far beyond reasonable. "We could have some real fun there."

"I… uh… I don't know."

"Well, look at it this way – the idea of going to a museum is about as attractive to me as going to a dive bar is to you," Joey reasoned, bringing her right around to the compromise he'd wanted from the get-go.

"How about we skip the museum and just go to the club and check out the band I was gonna take you to see?" Simone suggested, her train of thought going right where Joey had hoped it would. _And all without a single use of Dominate, too. There'll still be Toreador around – no doubt about that – but if I have any luck at all the place will be too loud for any of those subtle interrogations Toreador are so damned good at. If I'm really lucky, there won't be too many Toreador at all, and they'll all be younger. Less chance any of them will know anything about any kindred putting out a hit on me, but they'll also be less likely to be the one who actually ordered the hit._

"Fair enough," Joey said, kick-starting the bike and pulling back into traffic, cutting off a greenie and speeding away before the guardsman could scan his plates. "So where is this place, anyway?"

* * *

"This is Rebecca," Simone said, leading Joey toward the end of a vintage, English Oak bar that ran the length of the club. Rebecca had broken away from a small cadre of beautiful and stylishly dressed men and women talking in a shadowy corner; each of them was skillfully stealing glances at Joey and Simone, though their uncoordinated collective efforts made their furtive glances embarrassingly conspicuous. Joey sighed, and then turned his attention to Rebecca. "She's Alexandra's oldest childe," Simone explained.

Joey took Simone's words – meant solely to impress – as a suitable warning, reminding himself that if Alexandra Kelly had been embraced in the 2020's, Rebecca could be a fairly accomplished, formidable kindred by the current standards. Rebecca was tall and had the kind of athletic build that, a century earlier, would have had strangers asking her if she played basketball. Her brown hair was pulled back in a French braid, and she wore no jewelry to accent the sapphire-blue silk dress that, while clearly expensive and custom-tailored, failed to settle properly on her vaguely muscular curves.

"So I guess that means you're the primogen's right-hand man," Joey said glibly, extending his hand as he stared up at the woman. "Or the right-hand woman, as the case may be."

"And you're Joey Shigeta," Rebecca responded, allowing herself a few moments for an appraising stare of her own before she finally shook Joey's hand. She took her time, seeming to bask in the fact that she was about a half-foot taller than her guest.

"Yup, I'm the new guy," Joey finally replied. _The calluses on her hands give it away,_ he decided. _She's a sculptor._ Having comfortably pigeonholed the woman, he tried to settle down and enjoy himself as much as possible, given the circumstances. He knew the Toreador were masters at reading their peers, and if he was anxious and guarded, they would know. _The only way to seem relaxed is actually to relax._

Rebecca threw a meaningful glance at the group in the corner, and they scurried away in all directions, vacating the space for Rebecca, Simone, and Joey. Joey couldn't help but be impressed; he knew that the Toreador, as a clan, tended to pride themselves on rank and propriety. The fact that several members of the clan scattered at a glance from Rebecca spoke volumes about her influence.

Rebecca relaxed on a large leather chair and gestured for Joey to take a seat across from her. He flopped down casually, and Simone gracefully settled herself on the thick, cushioned arm of the chair, placing her hand on Joey's shoulder and smiling toward Rebecca. Rather than concentrate on the subtle exchange of niceties between the two Toreador, Joey marveled at an inexplicable acoustic effect that dampened the noise of the club within the dimly lit corner. It was clear that Rebecca was confident enough to be comfortable in the public eye.

"Special tiles in the walls and ceiling," Rebecca explained, as if she could read Joey's thoughts. "The contour of the arches above us, as well as the curvature of the ceiling between here and the center of the room, adds to the effect. I like conducting business in the open, but I hate shouting at the people I'm speaking with."

"It's pretty cool," Joey admitted.

"And relatively secure," Rebecca replied. "If you're standing just a few feet away, the sound of the band will completely drown out any noise coming from this corner. It makes it tough to eavesdrop."

"I'm flattered you think I might say anything important enough for people to _want_ to eavesdrop," Joey said. He glanced around quickly and noticed that the group of Toreador that had vacated the corner had congregated at the other end of the bar, all of them still stealing glances in his direction. Their curious expressions had given way to thinly veiled jealousy, and Joey couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" Rebecca asked.

"Your clanmates," Joey explained, pointing at the group of Toreador. "I don't think they appreciate being set aside for a poorly dressed stranger." He shifted slightly in the chair, realizing for the first time that he really was rather underdressed for the occasion; in fact, he could hardly help but feel self-conscious given how Rebecca had clearly gone out of her way to make a good impression on him.

"They'll get over it," Rebecca said confidently. "They're young, and I dare say a small bit spoiled. I doubt any of them's ever seen a Brujah, either. They just don't understand why a newcomer should displace them."

"And what will you tell them later when they ask?"

"Well… word has it you're the new Brujah primogen," Rebecca said.

"Jury's still out on that," Joey replied. _Though there are certainly perks I hadn't considered,_ he decided, his eyes sweeping over the inside of the club once again. It had been a long time since he'd been around kindred who lived comfortably in their surroundings, confident enough in their security that they dared devote time and energy to socialization. _I'm surprised how much I missed it,_ Joey admitted silently. But after a moment's reflection, he realized that it was far more than nostalgia brightening his mood. The more he glanced around, the more obvious it was that everyone was looking at him and Simone. _Everyone in here – kindred and kine, alike – would kill to be in this corner enjoying Rebecca's undivided attention. Power has its privileges._

"Oh, come on now," Rebecca chided playfully, lightly touching Joey's knee as she locked her gaze on his. "Even if there were other Brujah to provide you some competition for the job, no one's likely to win over the prince the way you have."

"I got the distinct impression he didn't like me," Joey countered, though he also couldn't help but be intrigued by Rebecca's suggestion that he had fared better than he thought with the prince.

"There're certain rules of decorum," Rebecca explained. Joey didn't miss the conspiratorial tone of her voice, the unmistakable implication that, inexplicably, a powerful Toreador wasn't seizing an opportunity to leave him on the outside looking in. Again, he was struck by how much he'd missed the old days – missed mingling with his own kind – without even realizing it. "If Travis was too open about liking you, it would have made someone jealous. Word has it you're old enough to have an idea how that would end."

"Probably with a gunshot or two," Joey conceded, smiling despite himself. He leaned back in his chair, and Simone's hand moved from his shoulder to the base of his neck, where she slowly ran her hand in small circles, her fingertips feeling as if they were draining the last vestiges of stress from his overburdened mind. And the people around him looked even more jealous. "I can't help but notice that you don't seem too concerned with giving me some time out of what I'm sure is a busy schedule," he added.

"Well, truth be told, I was curious," Rebecca said. "Simone told me a bit about you, and I decided I just had to meet you."

"So the invitation and quasi-private audience in your club had nothing to do with me being the presumptive Brujah primogen," Joey teased, smiling thinly.

"I assure you I didn't give your rank – or potential rank – a second thought. Ask around, Joey… even the prince has never been in this club." She glanced around the room, as if she herself was searching for a single soul who could tell Joey he was any less favored than she claimed. "I didn't expect you here so early, though," Rebecca conceded. "I thought you guys were going to Allie's show at the museum."

"Change of plans," Simone said. "Seems it all turned out for the best, though."

"It _is_ probably better this way," Rebecca agreed. "You know how Allie gets when there's art to talk about." She turned to Joey, her eyes practically beaming, and added, "It's even a bit much for me, and I'm an artist. Can't imagine it would be a Brujah's cup of tea. You look more like the type who'd go out and experience life for himself rather than live vicariously through some boring old artist's vision of the world."

"You understand completely," Joey said.

"Which is why I thought you just _had_ to meet him," Simone cooed.

"So, Joey," Rebecca said. "How in the world did you end up in Wilmington, anyway? I have a feeling this is going to be a fascinating story."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	22. Thursday, June 10, 2100 – 9:10 pm

White Wolf Publishing owns the "World of Darkness." My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

* * *

**Thursday, June 10, 2100 – 9:10 p.m.**  
"_The good fighters of old first put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat, and then waited for an opportunity of defeating the enemy." – Sun Tzu_

Joey awoke in a daze, taking several moments to place the unusual sensation in his head and stomach. "I feel hung over," he finally muttered, as shocked by his discomfort as he was by the fact that he could actually remember the feeling from his mortal days.

Rather than recall an ill-advised combination of liquor that no sane, sober person would consider imbibing (along with an equaly ill-advised pack of Marlboros, chain-smoked in a few hours), Joey instead wracked his mind for a memory of where he'd been and who he'd spoken to the night before. And it all came back in a blur that seemed more like a half-remembered dream than actual memory. _How could I have been so damned stupid?_ he asked himself immediately, seizing upon the reason for his muddled memories.

For much of his existence, Joey had rarely bothered to conceal his disdain for the Toreador clan, reluctantly acknowledging their place in kindred society even as he dismissed virtually every member of the clan as a relic of a long-lost era before the rise of the Sabbat. In Joey's mind, a clan that valued culture, art, beauty, and civilized society was at a marked disadvantage in a world where young, violent, and frighteningly organized vampires hunted down their Camarilla enemies, seeking to use the blood of the old and powerful to strengthen their own ranks. While Toreador elders were as formidable as the elders of any other clan, Joey had seen countless neonates – almost always selected for their artistic talents or creative minds – cut down by Sabbat hordes embraced solely to wreak chaos and destruction.

_But it's been a while since the wars,_ Joey reminded himself. The Toreadors' social skills, of little use in wartime, had served them quite well in a world where camouflage, rather than combat, was the order of the day. _The grunts were all stupid enough to march off to war against the Sabbat, and then the elders, and finally the hunters. The Toreador cut their losses and focused on blending in… and they're still alive because of it. Things change, and now the Toreador are the ones whose traditions provide the evolutionary advantage._

With several decades of relative safety during which to foster their new childer, the Toreador were a different animal than what Joey had known throughout his earlier years as kindred. _Even the youngest ones are dangerous, now,_ he realized one night too late. _I walked into a Toreador club without backup, and a few moments in their midst was all it took to become completely entranced._

He thought back on the events of the previous night, trying to recall specifically what he had and had not revealed. He knew his memories were completely intact – the Toreador could bemuse and enthrall him with their discipline of Presence, but he was certain his blood was too potent for them to erase events from his mind – so he knew that remembering would simply be a matter of time and will. _I need to wake the hell up and clear my head._

"Bethany!" Joey shouted. In moments, his door was open and Salona was looking at him expectantly, waiting anxiously for his commands. "I need you to start drinking coffee. Lots of coffee. Let me know when you get the shakes."

"You got it," she said with a nervous smile.

"Now!" Joey barked when she didn't leave his room immediately.

"Oh… sorry," she apologized. A moment later she was practically sprinting down the short hall to the kitchen.

_Okay, think,_ he told himself. He figured it would be at least an hour before Salona could drink and metabolize enough caffeine for Joey to feel the effects by drinking her blood, and he wanted to be well on his way to clearing his head before that happened.

_Simone and I went to Rebecca's damned nightclub, and I stupidly waltzed right in as though they were no threat to me._ He gritted his teeth at the thought, wondering briefly what his sire would have to say about that before he chased that thought away. _Rebecca asked me how I ended up in Wilmington, and I could hardly wait to tell her all about it. Simone was there, and she seemed so happy to be the center of Rebecca's attention that I couldn't help but be pulled in. She used her damned charisma against me, and… And what?_

His mind immediately raced to his deepest, darkest secrets, wondering if he had admitted anything that could prove catastrophic. Despite his fears, though, he was certain he hadn't revealed anything that would cause him to pack up and leave town immediately, never to return. _That's not the way the power works, anyway,_ he assured himself. _She made me willing to please her, to say or do things that would ingratiate me to her._ He likened the sensation to being drunk; and like being drunk, he was always free to admit or deny anything. He was certainly open to suggestion, but there was nothing that would have forced him to admit anything about his age, origins, or history.

He remembered saying several unflattering things about the prince, and he could recall a vivid description of his flight from Erie. He admitted to having a bunch of ghouls that served him as a corp job team, and he'd completely spilled the beans about them being killed. He sighed heavily, knowing that he'd given away far more than he would have liked.

_She knows way too much,_ he admitted. _But then again, she's a powerful Toreador. She'll keep the information secret until she feels it's to her advantage to share._ It was that realization that helped Joey calm down and bring his thoughts into focus.

"She's old enough to remember the way princes and primogen dance around each other, scrabbling for power and influence over each other," Joey said to the empty room, drawing confidence from the sound of his own voice. "It doesn't serve her to tell Lee about my time in Erie or the deaths of my team. So for now my secrets are safe with her… I just have to make sure I either eliminate her or gain her complete loyalty before she decides to tell anyone some of my personal information."

He stood and started pacing back and forth in the small bedroom, seizing on the idea of securing the Toreador primogen's loyalty. _I have nothing to use to buy her loyalty,_ he admitted. _Though I could never fully trust anyone who was willing to let me buy their loyalty in the first place, anyway._

"Actually, I have to stop trying to be too clever," he told himself. "I can't outmaneuver a Toreador who's in as superior a position as she's in. She has an entire clan at her disposal, with all of the attendant resources and ghouls. She doubtlessly has mortal contacts, and the prince would likely support her if she stepped badly, propping her up to help maintain his precious status quo."

Joey ran his hands back through his hair, taking a moment to look around the room, as if he would find the answer to his problems. To his surprise, he found exactly what he was looking for. He walked to the nightstand and picked his .45 up in his hand. _Play to your strengths,_ he told himself, remembering the simple advice he had given one of his childer almost a hundred years earlier. _When you're in a bad situation, you'll only end up making things worse if you try getting overly clever and creative. First decide what it is you're best at, then decide how to apply those skills to your current situation._

"I played countless political games with my kind back in the day," he muttered, releasing the magazine from his weapon, checking the rounds inside, and then snapping it back in place. "But that was a long time ago, and I'm out of practice. The Toreador will run rings around me if I try to out-influence them. And the Ventrue… no, the prince and his clan won't ever take me seriously. I'm just a novelty to them, the token Brujah whose presence makes his Conclave one seat larger and all the more impressive."

_So how do you want to play this?_ he asked himself.

"I'll play to my strengths," he decided. "And that means I need more than a ghoul and a hacker. I need to do a little recruiting. And I should probably track down an old friend."

_To be continued………………………………………_


	23. Wednesday, June 16, 2100 – 12:20 am

**Wednesday, June 16, 2100 – 12:20 a.m.**

"_In real life, strategy is actually very straightforward. You pick a general direction and implement like hell." – Jack Welch_

"Take off," the burly doorman grumbled as Joey approached, conspicuously well dressed and under-sized in the small crowd gathering outside the door.

"Excuse me?" Joey asked politely. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere with threats or bribes; the doorman was well paid and absolutely gargantuan, a poster-boy for the "all-natural" strength modification companies.

"Your kind isn't welcome here," the doorman said. People in line started glaring in Joey's direction, irritated that his refusal to leave was forcing them to wait in the dark alley, risking attention from any greenies that the fight club's owners had failed to pay off.

"My kind?" Joey asked uncertainly. He knew the doorman couldn't possibly have identified him as kindred.

"Corporate type," the man clarified. "They got clubs for your people. Upscale establishments where you won't get any blood on that pretty suit." The doorman laughed at his own wit, and several of the waiting customers joined in.

"I see," Joey smiled. "There's obviously been a misunderstanding."

"Yeah…" the doorman agreed.

"I'm not a Mr. Smith," Joey explained. "I'm a temp, and I'm looking to hire." That immediately got the attention of the doorman and everyone in line; it wasn't uncommon for underground fighters to be recruited for teams like the one Joey planned to build, though such employers – especially ones in suits as nice as Joey's – were rarely interested in an establishment as lowbrow as this one. "I'm also looking to place a few wagers."

"I see," the doorman said. "And my apologies. Entry is twenty-five, drinks are extra."

"Fine," Joey replied, pushing past a couple of young toughs in front of him, both of them perfectly willing to let him jump the line if it meant putting a recruiter inside the club. Joey dropped an extra twenty, hoping to make an impression in case he needed to come back in the near future, and walked into the darkness ahead.

Once through the front door, he continued down a short hall, through a second door, and into a second hallway lit only by a flickering black light. He could hear the sounds of the club inside this second hall, though it was all still muffled enough that he was unable to pick out any details. _The owners obviously took enough precautions to keep the club relatively hidden._ Once he opened the door at the end of the second hall, he was assaulted by the cheers and jeers of a thin crowd assembled in a small warehouse. The ring in the middle of the floor was an octagon, its proportions lifted from the pre-war UFC. Two men were fighting inside the caged ring, and Joey quickly found himself a seat and started watching closely.

The doorman outside had been right – this club would never be mistaken for upscale. The clientele ranged from bikers, gang members, and low-grade criminals, to young, inexperienced temps looking to spend the scores from their first jobs. Two men fought inside the ring, and neither of them appeared to have any cyberware at all. Just the way Joey preferred it.

With the advantage of coming in midway through the second round, Joey decided that the eventual winner was easy to pick. One of the fighters was young, full of piss and vinegar, with taut, bulging muscles and an iron jaw. The other was in his mid-thirties, five years and at least three-dozen fights past his prime, slouching slightly as he kept his arms up to defend himself from his younger opponent. Joey quickly called over one of the club's bookies.

"Who are these guys?" he asked.

"The old guy is Carson," the bookie said. "Career record is 112 and 28, 75 knockouts. The kid is Rocky, 17 and 0, 16 knockouts."

"Rocky?" Joey asked. "Seriously?"

"Says he got it from an old movie," the bookie explained. "Never heard of it, myself."

"Never thought I'd hear that," Joey muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"Huh?"

"What kind of odds you giving on Carson?" Even as he asked the question, Rocky snapped off two quick jabs and followed with a right cross, staggering the older fighter in the middle of the ring. Carson backpedaled desperately, trying to get out of reach of his stronger, faster opponent, throwing a couple of quick kicks as he gave ground. Rocky pursued hungrily, cornering Carson against the rusty chain-link fence at the edge of the ring. He feinted twice, forcing his older opponent to square up and defend himself, and then threw two measured jabs. Carson was too slow to avoid the first, but managed to block the second, just as Rocky shifted his weight with a half-step forward, another right cross zeroing in on his opponent's jaw. Carson sidestepped to his left, clearly dazed, and delivered a weak shot to Rocky's ribs, eliciting a disdainful sneer as Rocky maintained the pressure. Three jabs, then a hook, followed by another jab. Carson was fading fast.

"Carson? Really?" the bookie asked. "You watchin' the same fight I am?"

"If he was gonna get knocked out, it would have happened by now," Joey reasoned. "He seems the type that's too dumb to go down."

"Hey, it's your money," the bookie replied. "He started the fight at 4 to 1. Right now, I'll give you 7."

"Put me down for a thousand," Joey said.

"You got it," the bookie said happily as he left to find another sucker. Once he was gone, Joey continued to analyze every move each of the fighters made. Carson was tiring quickly, but the round was almost over. He only needed to hold Rocky off for another half a minute. _And if he does that, he has more than a puncher's chance,_ Joey decided. _That kid doesn't fight like he has any idea what it means to pace himself._

Carson threw three jabs, each one slower than the one before, and left himself open for a quick jab from his opponent. A heavy left hook followed, and Carson staggered as Rocky half-pushed, half-threw him against the fence. Hungry for the knockout, Rocky charged in, never realizing he was doing exactly what Carson wanted. Rocky gathered himself, his hips rotating as he aimed a right cross at the middle of Carson's face; even as his fist started forward, Carson lunged inside the range of the punch, a quick snap of his left hand striking Rocky in the throat, and his right elbow smashing the younger fighter's nose.

Rocky's fight-ending right cross fizzled in mid-punch, and he staggered back as Carson gave chase. The ten-second warning sounded, and Carson leaped forward, kicking Rocky in the chest, knocking him back against the opposite side of the ring. Carson was on top of the kid before he'd even hit the mat, leading with a knee to the solar plexus and two more strikes to the nose, followed by a solid elbow to the temple just as the bell sounded.

Carson dutifully stood to his feet, the adrenaline rush from his late-round surge immediately fading, leaving him as unsteady on his feet as Rocky was. The seconds flew by quickly as Rocky clearly regained more strength than Carson did. But Joey could see that between the broken nose and solid punch to the throat, the younger fighter was having a little trouble breathing. Catching his breath standing in his corner was one thing, managing to go toe-to-toe with another fighter in the middle of the ring was something else entirely.

As the bell rang, Rocky practically strutted forward, the cheers of the crowd egging him on as Carson walked slowly. Even Joey's practiced eye had trouble discerning whether Carson had been hurt worse than Joey had thought, or was simply taking his time, searching his opponent for any signs of weakness. Carson stopped after a few steps, waiting for Rocky to come to him. The young fighter obliged, immediately throwing a wide array of kicks, jabs, and hooks. Both fighters seemed more than happy to keep the fight a kickboxing match, neither one making any move to grapple. It made for an exciting, fast-paced, and bloody fight that had the crowd cheering on both men.

Well into the third round, Joey decided he was probably going to lose his bet. Rocky was clearly gassed, but Carson looked like he'd been through a war. His forearms and shins were bruised, his left eye swollen shut, and his back bleeding freely from a gash he's taken from the chain-link fence. And just as Joey gave up hope, the fight ended. Rocky threw a three-jab combination, followed it with a hook to Carson's chin, and charged forward for the kill. Right into Carson's first real attempt at a grapple. Carson grabbed his opponent and threw him to the mat, wrapping his legs around Rocky's torso as they both fell. Rocky tried to roll through the throw, but couldn't escape Carson's arm bar. His expression was equal parts surprised and defiant, but he still tapped out within seconds.

By the time the bookie came around with Joey's money, he'd already decided that he could use both of the fighters he'd just watched. "Not a bad bit of luck," the bookie commented as he counted out hundred dollar bills. "You feel like letting it ride? We have a nice interspecies fight coming up a little later."

"Not interested," Joey muttered.

"It's gonna be a good one," the bookie insisted. "Street sam against two pissed off, cybered pit bulls."

"No," Joey said a bit too forcefully as he took his winnings. He had no interest in watching dog fights, even when the opponent was a human who should have known better and probably deserved the mauling he'd receive. "You have access to the fighters, right?"

"Of course," the bookie said.

"Then deliver a message for me," he said, tossing him a thousand-credit chip. "Tell Carson and Rocky that if they want some extra money on the side, they should meet me at the Philly Diner later. Four o'clock."

* * *

It was a perfect night for racing down at the Barrens. Even a couple hours after midnight, the air was comfortably warm and the chatter of the spectators and gamblers was almost loud enough to drown out the steady hum of electric engines, punctuated by the purr of the occasional multi-fuel roadster. Down here, gambling was widespread and informal, with private bets between friends sharing space with the larger wagers handled by the track's bookies. Joey scanned the crowd for familiar faces, and immediately located Teaser, her bright pink hair seeming to glow under the lights.

"How's the action?" Joey asked, walking up behind her.

"Been awhile," she replied in a friendly tone, though she did not look up from the computer deck she'd set up on a collapsible card table in front of her.

Joey stood silently, waiting for her to finish whatever she was working on, and then smiled broadly when she finally turned to face him. "I like the eyes," he said at once, unable to miss the bright pink irises that now matched her hair. "Good quality, too. That kind of work doesn't come cheap," he added, impressed at the effect of the chemical treatments.

"Cost a pretty penny," Teaser said with a proud smile. "But business has been good. Speaking of…"

"Right," Joey replied with a grin, "Why make small talk when you could be making money, instead?"

"I have a car of my own I'm working on now, and parts are expensive," Teaser agreed. "What do you need?"

"A driver or two to bet on," Joey said. "Good ones for a change. Not like last time."

"That was almost a year ago, time to let it go," Teaser said, her broad smile contradicting the irritated tone of her voice.

"Get me some winners tonight, and I'll never mention it again," Joey promised.

"Three races from now, put it all on Flashpoint," said a young man, joining the conversation and resting his hands on Teaser's shoulders. She looked up at him with an adoring expression that practically screamed 'new relationship,' and then looked back to Joey.

"This is Paul," she said.

"Really?" Joey asked. "Just Paul?"

"Just Paul," the teenager agreed. He extended a hand and smiled broadly. "Not a runner, not a driver, not a decker, generally not looking for any work. Just Paul."

"He's a mechanic," Teaser said. "A damn good one, too. We met when I bought a couple of parts from his garage."

"And which garage would that be?" Joey asked, already knowing the answer he would get.

"New place," Paul replied nervously. "You probably haven't heard of it."

"Probably not," Joey agreed, knowing that he hadn't had any reason to search for a good chop shop since Nicki had died.

"So you're looking to place some wagers," Teaser said, quickly changing the topic.

"Five-thousand-cred bets," Joey said. "Can you direct me to someone who'd handle that action?"

"You're walking around with five-thousand-cred chips?" Teaser asked. Joey only nodded. "Really?"

"Have I ever lied to you, Teaser?"

"Not that I can prove," Teaser replied.

"So let's get down to business," Joey said. "I have the money, and you have the data. And like I said, I want you to pick winners. No more of this 'looking for value' crap you and the other sharps always go on about. From what I've seen, 'looking for value' seems pretty synonymous with 'blowing you money on long-shots.' "

"I'll make a true believer out of you someday, Joey. You just have get over your suspicions of math," Teaser laughed. Paul forced a laugh, too, though he was still plainly nervous about Joey's earlier questions about his workplace. "Fifty percent sounds fair."

"Except for the part about how I'm the only one risking any money." Joey replied. "So this is where I say ten, and you go with forty, maybe forty-five, and we haggle until we reach thirty."

"Thirty-three," Teaser replied. "And a third," she added with a grin. It was the grin that did it.

"Agreed," Joey said. "Thirty-three and a third. But there's one more thing I need from you."

"And what's that?" Teaser asked, clearly curious.

"I want to know who the best driver here is," Joey said. "Not who has the best car, or the best cyberware, or the largest following. Just the best driver."

"Depends who you ask," Teaser said.

"I'm asking you."

"As far as I'm concerned, there's only one choice," she assured him. "And from what I remember about you, you're gonna absolutely love her."

"Who is she?" Joey asked.

"You'll see," Teaser assured him. "Nineteenth race. You won't be able to miss her."

* * *

Joey had already gone four-and-one on the strength of Teaser's picks when he realized the drivers for the nineteenth race were moments from taking their places at the end of the queue on the track. The front two cars, running the thirteenth match, rolled up to the starting line side by side, stopped, and waited momentarily as the starter nodded to each driver and raised her right hand in the air. She took a deep breath, causing one of the cars to start revving a split-second too soon, anticipating the start a moment too early. Even as that engine started throttling down, she dropped her hand, eliciting a high-pitched whine from both electric engines as the cars started down the track. Joey didn't see who won, and didn't care – he didn't have any money on that race – all that mattered to him was the car that had just pulled onto the track.

The first thing that caught his attention was the deep-throated, rumbling growl that drowned out the low, measured hum of the electric and hybrid engines surrounding it. It didn't take long to locate its source – a jet-black fifth generation Ford Mustang slowly rolled into the queue. Fully restored and freshly painted, it was labeled as a Shelby 1000. _Perfect,_ Joey thought.

"Told you you wouldn't be able to miss her," Teaser said, suddenly appearing at Joey's side.

"This is yours," he said, handing her a fifteen-hundred credit chip and never taking his eyes from the car.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"Sally," Paul said, predictably coming to stand at Teaser's side.

"Mustang Sally?" Joey asked. "Really?"

"Well, her real name's Bridget," Teaser said. "But everyone calls her Sally. You know, because of that old song by Wilson Phillips."

"Wilson Pickett," Joey corrected, stifling an amused chuckle. "Kind of a big difference."

"Whatever," Teaser replied with a shrug.

"Heathens," Joey muttered. "So what's her deal?"

"The sharps consider all her races stay-aways," Teaser explained. "Never any value there."

"But you said she's the best," Joey reminded her.

"Well, that car of hers always attracts some action," Paul put in.

"Just not from the sharps," Teaser added.

"Why not?"

"No wetware," Teaser replied, nodding at the apparent wisdom of her own words. "Spends all her money on the car instead of on herself. So that beast has a higher top speed and better acceleration off the line than anything out here, but she's shifting the gears herself instead of letting an interface handle it. Archaic tech manages all of the engine's systems; word has it she even rebuilt a lot of the original components. She's just too inconsistent. If she ran this same race a hundred times, she'd probably win forty-five times, lose forty-five times, blow out her engine nine times, and die in a fiery wreck once. Because she actually uses gasoline in that thing, too. Kind of a death-trap, but she's using an old-school engine, so she can't use multi-fuels or synthetics."

"Can you get her a message after her race?" Joey asked.

"Assuming this isn't the one percent of the time she dies in a fiery wreck?" Teaser asked, grinning mischievously. "Sure."

"Tell her if she wants some extra money on the side, she should meet me at the Philly Diner later. Four o'clock." Joey was about to leave when he decided to make sure Teaser would be as persuasive as possible. "If she shows, there's an extra five hundred in it for you."

"She'll be there," Paul said immediately.

_And hopefully she'll bring her car,_ Joey thought as he walked away. _I absolutely __**have**__ to see what's under the hood._

_To be continued…_


	24. Wednesday, June 16, 2100 – 4:00 am

**Wednesday, June 16, 2100 – 4:00 a.m.**

"_Organization doesn't really accomplish anything. Plans don't accomplish anything, either. Theories of management don't much matter. Endeavors succeed or fail because of the people involved. Only by attracting the best people will you accomplish great deeds." – Colin Powell_

"They all showed," Joey said to Emilia as he slid off his Harley, taking off his helmet and placing it on the handlebars. "I'll be damned."

"You're surprised they're here?" his newly hired decker asked as she carefully stepped off the motorcycle and back onto solid ground. She took off her own helmet – bright yellow with a winking smiley face painted on the top for the entertainment of the city's police hover-drones – but kept it with her as she followed Joey toward their meeting, swinging it casually in her left hand as she discretely took the safety off her concealed needle gun with her right. "Why wouldn't they show?"

"If someone you've never met sent you a message asking you to show up down at the Barrens late at night to hear a business proposition – especially if it was alone, like Bridget – would you go?" Joey asked, an amused grin on his face as he turned to look at his hacker.

"Well, _I_ wouldn't," Emilia replied. "But I'm smarter than most people."

"They could have been walking straight into an ambush," Joey replied, ignoring Emilia's attempt at humor. _But if all three join up, then along with me, Em, and Annie, we'll have six. That's enough… as long as my online post gets me the one more I'd like to have._ "They took a chance, each of them," he added, turning to his hacker and shrugging noncommittally. "So they're brave, foolish, or desperate. Maybe all three."

"Probably," Emilia agreed. "But desperate is good, right?"

"Well, it'll make them all more willing to accept my offer," Joey admitted, "but I get a little nervous when someone's so desperate for money that they don't think things through. Usually causes problems later when they finally realize what they've gotten themselves into." He expected some kind of response from Emilia, the kind of dry, sarcastic remark that had become increasingly common since she'd been blood bound. But she held her tongue, reminding him that he still had a lot to learn about his most recent ghoul.

As he walked toward them, Joey took the opportunity to look over all three thoroughly, searching for details he inevitably missed during the short time he'd seen them earlier. Rocky and Carson were standing together, Carson clearly relaying an anecdote about one of his old fights. He was shadowboxing against his old opponent, pausing the action from time to time to explain details that Rocky was clearly finding hilarious. Bridget stood more than fifteen feet away, as far from the fighters as she could manage while still being close enough to the entrance to meet her unidentified host. Her body was half-turned away, and she was looking over a datapad while stealing an occasional glance toward the two large, loud men standing nearby. Joey could hardly wait to see if – and how – the personalities of this would-be team meshed.

"Gentlemen!" Joey said loudly as he walked into the halo of light defending the front of the diner from the nighttime terrors of the surrounding Barrens. "Rocky, Carson – I'm Mr. Black," he said, smiling while reaching out to shake their hands. He looked into the men's eyes, conscious of their reactions; he'd combed some gray into his hair to look a little older, a little more professional. He got the impression it helped. "I'm the one who asked you to meet me here."

"Nice to meet you," Carson said, shaking his hand and taking a step back to appraise his potential employer. There was something almost twitchy in his expression, and his voice sounded a little punchy, but there was an alert glimmer in his eye that somehow seemed to Joey like a predator nosing around the bait in a trap, knowing on an instinctive level that free meals were dangerous.

"Hey," Rocky said, squeezing Joey's hand as he shook it, apparently believing that grip strength was a requirement for the job Joey planned to offer. When Rocky stepped back, he puffed out his chest and straightened his shoulders, far more interested in impressing Joey than in determining if Joey impressed him. Comparing the two fighters, it was obvious that only one of them had ever had side jobs before.

"And this is Ms. White," Joey added, introducing his hacker.

"You can call me Talon," she said.

Joey rolled his eyes at the girl's mention of her adopted street name, and Rocky laughed. "Talon?" he asked the young woman, taking a half-step forward and looking down at her, emphasizing the huge difference in size between the two of them. "Yeah… that'll be the day, Little Miss White."

Carson chuckled at that, though he had the grace to try to hide it, and Emilia looked absolutely humiliated, all but guaranteeing that Rocky would never refer to her by her preferred name. As Emilia diverted her attention to the inside of the helmet she was still holding, Joey turned toward the last member of their party.

"Bridget?" he called out, gesturing for the woman to join them. "I'm Mr. Black, and this is Ms. White." The two women nodded to each other, and this time Emilia refrained from introducing herself as Talon.

Bridget walked over warily and conspicuously declined Joey's extended hand, preferring to keep a few feet between her and the man she didn't know. "Nice to meet you," the driver said, and then turned to the fighters.

"Carson," the older one said.

"And I'm Rocky," the other added.

_And you'd do well to remember that her eyes are on her face, not her tits,_ Joey thought with amusement as he watched Rocky make his introduction, his gaze never leaving Bridget's chest. _He's like some sort of throwback, Rocky of the Lost Guido Tribe,_ Joey thought for a moment, suppressing a smile and focusing himself on the task at hand. "I have a table waiting inside, so let's not waste time out here," Joey said, leading the way into the diner and heading toward the back. Even at this late hour a majority of the tables were taken, but Joey had been over-tipping at the Philly for years, and they'd made sure he was given as much privacy as could be expected for a group of five in one of the city's only late-night eateries.

"Roscoe said you were looking to hire some muscle," Rocky said as soon as they were all settled, Joey and Emilia on one side of the booth, facing the entrance, with the three potential employees facing them. Bridget was pressed against the wall, and Rocky sat on the other end, his right leg stretched out as an obstacle for whatever waitress eventually served them. Carson sat between them, initially focusing his attention on making sure his silverware was clean. "You need someone roughed up or something?" Rocky asked.

"Are you willing to do that kind of work?" Joey asked, looking from Rocky to Carson.

"Well, I got bills to pay," Rocky said with a wide grin that was two teeth short of a full smile. "It all depends on how much you pay."

"Maybe for him," Carson muttered. He had satisfied himself that his fork was clean enough to eat with, so he placed it back on the table, lined up carefully with the knife and spoon, and settled his gaze on Joey. "Money's nice, but only if you're alive to use it. How dangerous is the job?"

"And what're the chances my car gets all shot up if I work for you?" Bridget added. Joey could tell that she'd noticed Carson's attention to his utensils; she was looking casually at her own, even as she was devoting most of her attention to the conversation.

"Oh, come on," Rocky said to her before Joey could speak. "We all know the kind of risks that come with the work he's hiring for. The money's the important thing."

"The chem-head's opinions don't necessarily reflect the opinions of everyone on this side of the table," Bridget said with a shrug, her expression making it clear that she was ready for her prospective employer to start sharing some details.

"I'm not hiring for a job," Joey said, leaving the words hanging in the air to see how they would all respond.

"So what… you drag us down here in the middle of the night just for kicks?" Rocky asked. "How 'bout I rearrange your face with the pavement?"

"That sounds unpleasant," Joey admitted.

"If not a job, then what are you hiring for?" Bridget asked. Then, to Rocky, she added, "Try listening to what he actually says, jackass. These corporate types are all the same – he wants to see how we react, how we think. I get that you've clearly never done this before, but you're making us all look bad."

"_I'm_ making _you_ look bad?" Rocky asked sarcastically. "Girl, have you looked in the mirror lately? How big is your car that you can squeeze those hips in there?"

"Real mature," Bridget replied, but Joey saw a hint of pain behind her eyes.

_That's unfair – she has decent hips,_ Joey thought, remembering Bridget's figure in front of the diner. _And a nice chest, too, which Rocky appreciated perfectly fine a few minutes ago._

"Rocky, dude – you're kinda being an asshole," Carson said. "Let's find out about the job first, then you can worry about the girl's hips." There was something about his patient, even tone and thin smile that seemed to drain the tension from his side of the table.

"Here's the offer," Joey said quickly, filling the silence before anyone else could say something offensive. "This isn't about a single job – I'm putting together a team."

"A team?" Bridget asked skeptically. "Like, a whole team of temps that would keep working together?"

"Yes," Joey confirmed. He knew that this was the kind of offer that dreams were made of – stable employment in a high-risk but extremely high-reward industry. Just off the top of his head he could think of three separate movies that started out with scenes like this, and he reminded himself that two of those films involved naïve runners being betrayed by an employer in need of some patsies. "Numerous conditions apply, of course."

"Huh?" Rocky asked.

"He means there's a bunch of fine print," Bridget said, rolling her eyes impatiently. "So what's the catch? And an even better question – why us?"

"Well, as to the why, when I assemble a team, I like-"

"We're not your first team, then?" Bridget interrupted. "What happened to the last one?"

Joey sat back, looked at Bridget, and smiled, thinking about how much she reminded him of Gina. _She's not only smart, but quick. I like her. The other two… not so much. But I have to get this one on board._ "I've had a team for the past several years," Joey began, providing the planned back-story that combined a good bit of truth with a healthy dose of lies. "But most people, well… after a certain amount of time together, it's best to move on."

"Move on," Carson repeated. "So you all just decided to break up?" Joey knew he was already losing his audience – if Carson was skeptical, he imagined Bridget was about to get up and leave.

"Most of us," Joey said. "It was a team of six, and in our last job, one of our people was killed. Another one blamed himself, felt that he'd gotten too close to her and that he made a mistake that got her killed."

"When you say he got too close, you mean that they were fucking, right?" Rocky asked. Bridget immediately exhaled with disgust, and even Carson shook his head, unable to hide his disappointment in the younger fighter's inability to hold his tongue.

"Yes, they were fucking," Joey confirmed. "Is that enough information, or do you need some sketches to help fill in the blanks?"

Rocky clearly didn't expect Joey's blunt response, but both Carson and Bridget grinned. "Uh… no," Rocky finally said. "Sorry to interrupt."

"As I said, sometimes it's best to move on after awhile," Joey continued. "We should have done it sooner. Anyway, that guy left, meaning we were down to a team of four. Since that meant we'd have to take some time off to recruit and train some new people, anyway, another person left to start her own team, leaving me with myself and two others. One of them decided to take a side job while I was busy recruiting, and he got himself killed because he didn't do his homework."

"And what does that mean, exactly?" Bridget asked.

"It means he got used to running with the same team, with each of us having each other's backs," Joey explained. "He did a job with people he didn't know. He was up for it, but the people he went out there with were in way over the heads. The entire team was wiped out."

"So you're the one other person left from his old team," Bridget surmised, looking at Emilia. "You must be older than you look."

"No, I just got hired for the new team," Emilia said. "I'm seventeen."

"Too young," Carson said immediately. "I won't work with a kid. She could get hurt."

"Or killed," Joey confirmed. "She knows. She's a hacker; a good one. The young ones are often as good as the older ones, and they don't have any baggage."

"And they're cheaper, which I'm sure you're happy about," Bridget pointed out.

"Yes, younger hackers are cheaper," Joey confirmed. "So are over-the-hill cage fighters," he added, looking at Carson. "And chemically enhanced muscle-heads with no ability for strategy." This time he looked at Rocky.

"And I suppose you picked me because I'm in the bargain bin, too," Bridget muttered.

"The price helps," Joey admitted. "You're all affordable, which is great, but that's not why I wanted to meet you. I'm looking to hire all of you for the same reason I hired Emilia."

"Which is?" Bridget prompted.

"Because you all have talent, but only minimal wetware," Joey said.

"And that's a good thing?" Carson asked. "Because I've missed out on plenty of jobs because I didn't have enough tech."

"I'm looking to build a team from the ground up, and that includes the 'ware," Joey explained. "I'm offering a long-term contract – three-year minimum with three one-year mutual options. Full cyberware work-up on my dime, to be repaid out of your percentage from jobs. You get a set salary whether we work or not, and I get inheritance rights on all cyberware and viable organs in the event of your demise."

"What's the salary?" Bridget asked. Joey was surprised she went straight to that issue rather than address inheritance rights. That was a good sign.

"Fifty for the first year," Joey replied. "Ten percent guaranteed raise the second and third years, with the opportunity to earn more based on performance. Any increase beyond ten percent is at my sole discretion."

"So three years, 160,500 credits," Bridget said. "What about the three option years?"

"Assuming your cyberware is completely paid off by then, you'll have several options ranging from set salary to percentage-only, with numerous combinations available. I'm open to compromise on the details. If I learned only one thing from my last team, it's that we can all make lots of money so long as we make the work our number one priority."

"How much money?" Rocky asked, a greedy gleam in his eye.

"They were each earning six figures for the last few years," Joey answered, enjoying the satisfied expressions in front of him. "I have numerous incentive and health plans. My teams are an investment – I like keeping them happy, healthy, and motivated."

"And is this one of those deals where we have to decide right now whether we're in or out?" Bridget asked suspiciously.

"Of course not," Joey replied, meeting her suspicious stare with a well rehearsed, friendly smile. "I don't expect any of you to be any more sure about this than I am. I want to get to know all of you a little better, and I suspect you all feel the same. I've arranged for a suite at the DuPont Carlton for the next three nights. I'd like to meet with each of you individually for two hours each night."

"What for?" Bridget asked. Her tone made it clear that this was not the first time a potential employer had expected her to meet him at a hotel.

"Conversation," Joey said, looking from Bridget, to Carson, then Rocky. "We'll get to know each other, and we'll discuss your professional strengths and weaknesses. I need to know what you can contribute to a team, and we all need to decide what kind of wetware you should have installed. Bridget, you're scheduled for nine to eleven. Carson, you're eleven to one. And Rocky, you get the graveyard shift – one to three. If you're interested in continuing this interview, show up on time and ask for my suite number at the hotel lobby. If not, no hard feelings."

"It's really that simple?" Carson asked.

"Nothing's ever that simple," Joey replied as he stood to leave, Emilia joining him. "We're talking about a three-year commitment to a job that could get you killed. Of course, it could also make you very, very wealthy. Think it over and be sure. Don't waste my time if you're not serious." He reached into his pocket and threw a credit chip on the table. "Order whatever you'd like; dinner's on me."

_To be continued…_


	25. Wednesday, June 23, 2100 – 10:10 pm

**Wednesday, June 23, 2100 – 10:10 p.m.  
**"_Events in the past may be roughly divided into those which probably never happened and those which do not matter." – William Ralph Inge_

"Joey, she's here," Annie called into the bathroom. Shigeta turned off the shower, hastily wrapped a towel around his waist, and walked into the hall to welcome the woman who, for good or ill, constituted the only dependable backup in his plan.

"Now there's a familiar sight," Joey marveled as he settled his gaze on the young woman in front of him. Amber eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair framed a pale, beautiful face that seemed as if it had been created for a life of pleasure and luxury; in sharp contrast, the worn brown duster, dirt- and blood-stained white tank top, faded, torn blue jeans and filthy brown biker boots spoke of an individual who worked hard for a living. _She's got the look down,_ he decided. _Right down to the revolvers,_ he noted, setting his eyes on two ivory-handled .357 Magnum revolvers holstered low on her hips. "Just seeing you there really takes me back."

"It's been awhile," the woman muttered, her gruff tone eerily reminiscent of her onetime mentor's.

"Annie, this is Blackwell," Joey said with a flourish of his hand. "Blackwell, Annie."

"And now that introductions are done, can we maybe get to work?" Blackwell asked. "And get you some clothes?" she suggested to Shigeta.

"You always this pleasant?" Annie asked with a playful, friendly grin that earned her a sneer in response.

"She's a merc," Joey explained to his hostess, stepping quickly into the bedroom and sliding into a pair of thoroughly broken-in blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt. "She's not supposed to be pleasant."

"Being an anti-social ass is part of the job description," Blackwell agreed, a shadow of a smile passing across her face before the intense glare in her eyes immediately returned.

"And apparently, so is a brown duster," Joey noted as he rejoined the two women. "Though yours doesn't have a many bullet holes as-"

"Don't," Blackwell interrupted. "Let's just get down to business. First off – compensation. You payin' me for this, or are you callin' in one of those favors I owe you?"

"There any of those left?"

"Two."

"You sure?" Joey asked skeptically. "Vancouver?" he asked.

Blackwell nodded.

"There can't be any others."

"Trust me," Blackwell assured him.

"Miami?"

"No, we covered Miami with that cluster-fuck in Erie," Blackwell replied. For the second time, a hint of a smile curled the edge of her lips, but as before, it vanished almost instantly. "I'm thinking about the thing in San Francisco back in '27."

"Good times," Joey nodded. "So it's San Francisco and Vancouver."

"Uh-huh."

"Let's just use up one of them, then," Joey said, doing his best to let Blackwell pay off her debts as quickly as possible. Had she been anyone else, he would have held favors over her for decades, even centuries, but the mercenary was a friend from the old days. Joey didn't have many friends left, and he knew well that one way to alienate the ones he still had was to hold obligations over them. "Annie, give us a few minutes," Joey said, sending his ghoul away while he talked shop with his guest.

"Fine, a freebie job, it is," Blackwell said once Annie left the room. "So what are we here for?"

"We?" Joey asked.

"I have a childe now," Blackwell explained. "I wanted to leave her behind, since I figured the kind of mess you'd get yourself into would probably get a little rough for her, but you know how childer can be."

"Yeah… sure," Joey muttered, eager to change the topic. "Your childe – just how far along is she? Because I lost a veteran corp job team, and I still haven't answered the all-important why. Hell, I haven't even gotten as far as who."

"No leads?"

"All I know for certain is they were picked off one at a time, most of them in their homes, and the last surviving member of my team was killed by a local hunter called The Whisper," Joey answered. "I have to assume that all of this has to do with the last job we did. We were overpaid for an easy tech grab from a biotech corp, and then people started dropping like flies. My hacker was certain someone else was on-site hitting the target at the same time, so it's possible another team was gunning for us. Or maybe the target company thinks we _were_ the other team, so they're taking us out for stealing something far more important than what we actually took… not that what we got wasn't sensitive data, itself. Of course, if The Whisper is involved, this might have to do with me being kindred and have nothing to do with any of our jobs. Which brings me to the part where I also ran into the local sheriff, and he delivered a personal invitation from the prince."

"No shit," Blackwell interrupted. "A prince? I didn't think we had those anymore."

"You know how things go in cycles," Joey shrugged. "Everything old is new again."

Blackwell shook her head in mock frustration, her grin belying her amusement, and then she looked down, her familiar tell letting Joey know she was working through everything he'd told her. "When did you hear from the prince?"

"At the same time everything else started. In fact, people started dying within twenty-four hours of that meeting."

"So was this one of those 'We've noticed that you've been in my city for awhile without presenting yourself' invitations, or was it genuine?"

"Unannounced in my home, but there wasn't any real threat in it," Joey explained. "Actually seemed like he was trying to make a good impression, probably because of what it would say about the prince."

"So how vulnerable is the prince?" Blackwell asked. Shigeta turned a surprised stare in her direction. "You know, just in case we decide to take him out," she added. "I can't imagine you haven't already thought about it."

"It's occurred to me."

"And let's see, if this were the old days, you woulda marched right into his home – or at least Elysium – bearing gifts while you took mental notes on everyone there so that you'd have tactical files on every potential target in the city." A broad smile crossed her face. "You know, just in case."

"That was the old days," Joey muttered.

"So you don't have any intel on them?" Blackwell asked.

"Of course I have intel," Joey answered. "The files are in a box under the bed. But when I went to Elysium, I didn't go bearing gifts."

"Probably a good idea," she agreed. "Too Greek." This time her grin didn't vanish quite as quickly; it seemed the gravity of the situation was actually helping her relax. Joey wasn't sure how he should take that.

"So this childe of yours," Joey prompted. "Where is she?"

"Outside watching what passes for the perimeter."

"So then there's no reason to give me a line of bullshit to spare her feelings. Let me have it – just how likely is she to get herself killed?"

Blackwell's initial response was a grunt, but when Joey didn't continue speaking, she eventually decided to fill the silence. "Well, considering I've been here about three minutes and we've already discussed taking out the prince and every vampire in his court, all while dodging local hunters who are already tracking you, and at least one biotech corp that might want your head on a platter… her chances aren't too great, Joey," Blackwell admitted grimly.

"Wonderful…"

"Just like old times, huh?" Blackwell produced a cigarette – seemingly from thin air – and lit it with a 20th century Zippo, ignoring the smirk she earned from her host.

"We probably should've died countless times back in the old days."

"But we didn't," Blackwell said. "So… how 'bout that ghoul of yours?"

"Hasn't even reached her 'sell by' date," Joey answered. "She's a good kid, though. She saved my ass when I had no one else to turn to. In fact, I'd probably be dead without her."

"Sounds like embrace-worthy material."

"If you're interested, you can have her when we're done here," Joey said. "Though you'll have to foot the bill for ripping out the wetware and compensate me for the cost. Shit's all brand new."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Blackwell replied, shrugging off her duster and tossing it onto a beaten-up couch. Joey noticed the hard, muscular lines in her arms and the taut frame of her shoulders; she'd certainly kept herself busy in the decades since he'd last seen her. "You're not afraid your childe is gonna be stuck with the sins of her sire, are you?"

"I don't want another childe."

"Immortality gets lonely."

"Not if you want to be alone."

"And since when have you ever wanted that?" Blackwell asked. "You used to be the life of the party."

"Party's over," Joey snapped. "I'm Inconnu."

"The Inconnu are gone," the mercenary reminded her old friend. "The elders are all dead, and you were never really one of them, anyway, no matter how potent your blood is. Remember – their one and only rule was noninvolvement. They were separate and apart by choice, and if they still existed they certainly wouldn't be toying with the idea of wiping out the prince and his sycophants. You're not a watcher; you're a meddler."

"The Inconnu only watched because they didn't think about the big picture."

"The big picture?" Blackwell asked with amusement. "There are some who'd say the wars, the near-extermination of our kind, and the widespread destruction caused by nuclear and biological weapons is the result of your clan's efforts to find a place for itself in the big picture. In fact, since you were usually the one who did most of your clan's wheeling and dealing, there are some people who'd say that all the shit the world's been through in the past century is your fault."

"Yeah, well… people are mostly stupid, judgmental assholes."

"Like you, going and torturing yourself over things you couldn't have prevented, even if you _had_ made better decisions. It's been what, seventy years of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, putting together teams of mortal thieves just to give yourself something to play with?" Blackwell asked. "Enough with the brooding. Time to get back in the game, Johnny."

"Name's Joey."

"Call yourself whatever you want, but cut this feeling sorry for yourself shit. It's _so_ not you. Why'd you even call me, anyway?"

"I need backup."

"People only need backup when they're gonna do something dangerous or, as was often the case with you once upon a time, foolhardy. But for over half a century you've kept walking away when the going gets tough." Joey turned and glared at his guest, but he held his tongue. "Hey, doesn't matter much to me," Blackwell continued. "As far as I'm concerned, dragging my ass halfway across the continent to answer your call is good enough to satisfy one of those two favors I owe you, whether I get shot at or not. But as your friend -"

"Is this how friends talk to each other?" Joey interrupted.

"Not sure," Blackwell admitted, taking a long drag off her cigarette and flicking the ashes onto the thinning carpet. "It's been awhile since I've had a good friend to talk to. Which is why I embraced Carrie. And maybe why you should embrace Annie."

"Drop it."

"Fine. Look, I'm gonna do a few rounds through this shithole city, see what there is to see, get the lay of the land. I'll be back before dawn. Make up your mind by then whether I should plan to leave at dusk tomorrow, or whether Carrie and I will be around for a bit."

_To be continued…_


End file.
